


From the Viewpoint of a Wolf and a Star

by firstfloorgenerator



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Angst and Tragedy, Book 3: Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, Book 4: Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, Book 5: Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, Canon Compliant, Comedy, Dorks in Love, Eventual Romance, Ex-lovers to Lovers, Father-Son Relationship, Fluff, Found Family, Friends to Lovers, Harry Potter just wants a dad, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Lie Low At Lupin's (Harry Potter), M/M, Multi, Mutual Pining, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, i had to do so much research to match the dates and events up perfectly someone send help, its basically a rewrite of goblet of fire and order of the phoenix but from Lupin & Sirius' POVs, or at least i think its canon anyways, where was Sirius staying during the beginning of Goblet of Fire hmmmm, wolfstar
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-24
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:28:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 31
Words: 153,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24899191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firstfloorgenerator/pseuds/firstfloorgenerator
Summary: Starting after the events of Prisoner of Azkaban and ending before the beginning of the Half-Blood Prince, this is a retelling of all the events in between, from Remus Lupin and Sirius' Black's POVs. What happens when you date someone at school, break up, and then, like, don't see them for twelve years due to the fact that one of you was framed for murder and treason and the other one believed it? Hijinks, probably. Anyways, they're falling in love all over again, or maybe they never fell out, but now that they are older, now that Harry is a part of their lives, now that all their lives are constantly in danger, how will this affect their feelings and actions?
Relationships: Remus Lupin & Harry Potter, Sirius Black & Harry Potter, Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Comments: 574
Kudos: 371





	1. A Letter After Twelve Years

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Actually *before* Chapter 22 (Owl Post Again) in The Prisoner of Azkaban-- this chapter takes place the day after Lupin resigns & leaves.

_ June 10th, 1994  
_ _Yorkshire, England _

Even in the dark, the cottage was exactly as Remus had remembered it. 

He wasn’t sure if that made him feel better or worse. Certainly, if it had been greatly changed, it would look as alien as Remus felt returning to it. He waded through the tall, uncut grass, trunk dragging behind him, the noise rumbling through the otherwise calm night air. He wondered vaguely if anyone could hear it— it’s not like he really had neighbors, you couldn’t call them that when the closest dwelling was a fifteen-minute walk away— but he wondered all the same, if anyone else here was aware that he was back. 

He pointed his wand at the door and the lock clicked, the wooden door falling open a couple of centimeters. He stared at it for a while, stupidly frustrated that it hadn’t just fallen open all the way, that he would actually have to step forward and enter of his own accord. Then, with a sigh far too deep for the task at hand, he pushed it opened and entered the landing. 

Aiming his wand at the oil lamp hanging from the ceiling, which sputtered to life, the familiar room was brought into view. An old tattered couch, sagging beneath an invisible weight, took up a large portion of the space. In front of it, a rickety coffee table. He hadn’t left anything on it— like a half-full glass of water or an open newspaper—and suddenly, he wished he had. 

He dragged his trunk across the bare floor, depositing it next to a set of cupboards. He used to keep eggs in there, protected by a cooling charm, but the charm had probably long since worn off, and besides, he had cleaned it out before he left last summer, anyways. Stomach growling, he opened one of the cabinet doors to find a half of a bar of chocolate.  He almost laughed. This is probably how Harry, James’ son, _thought_ he lived— a haggard man, out in the middle of nowhere, eating only chocolate and fighting a dementor on the daily. As if dementors cared enough to seek him out. Although, now that Sirius was on the run…

_But they wouldn’t come looking for him here,_ Remus thought bitterly. _Who knew where Sirius was, but it certainly wouldn’t be shacked up in the middle of Yorkshire with his old— with me._ No, no. Sirius had only escaped last night, but he was probably already far away, in Antarctica, or something, alone, in an as remote a location as he could possibly be. Both of them were far from Hogwarts. 

It was stupid to be this upset, Lupin thought, as he dragged his trunk into the bedroom. It was stupid to be this upset because he had known, from the moment Dumbledore had offered him the job, that he would only be teaching for a year. During his time at Hogwarts as a student, he had had seven Defense Against the Dark Arts teachers, and from what he had read in the papers over the years, the one-year-curse hadn’t seemed to change. But still, he had accepted, because he hadn’t been able to hold down any other job, because the prospect of free Wolfsbane potion was too good to pass up, and because _Dumbledore_ had asked him. 

And, of course, most of all, he had wanted to connect with Harry. For many reasons. To get to know him, to teach him, to help him in any way he could, and to protect him. Protect him from Sirius, the man who had supposedly sold James and Lily to Voldemort, who had supposedly murdered Peter and twelve muggles, who had broken out of Azkaban to supposedly hunt Harry himself— Sirius, who was loyal to a fault, who was fiercely and passionately against anti-Muggle sentiment, who in fact was so enamored with muggle and wizard relationships that he bewitched a motorcycle… the man who would’ve thrown himself in front of a wand for any of them, the man who cried, actually cried, when Harry was born and James made him his godfather, the man who was once a boy who hadn’t cared that Remus was a werewolf, who didn’t care about blood purity, who rejected the Dark Arts and his family his entire teenage life, the boy that had done so many rash and reckless and stupid things, but always in the name of loyalty and love. 

Remus felt a hollow, gutted feeling in his stomach. Hindsight was 20-20, and of course all of the physical evidence had pointed to Sirius’ guilt, but nothing else had made sense. The young man, the teenager, the kid that Remus had loved, hadn’t done it. Of course he hadn’t. But when he got the news of Sirius Black, murderer and traitor, Remus hadn’t even questioned it. He could’ve demanded that the Ministry give him a trial, he could’ve visited him in Azkaban and demanded the truth— but even as Remus thought this, he knew that he couldn’t have done either of those things. Not then. He had been too overcome with absolute, unyielding grief. 

But grief was not what he felt now. In fact, he could not quite put into words what he was feeling. How could he describe the gut-wrenching pang he felt when Sirius’ wanted poster had been plastered on every window, only to be followed by the sheer, dizzying elation and relief at discovering his innocence, which was augmented by the tiny, flaring hope that they would be able to spend some time, any time, together again, only to be usurped by the full moon and Peter becoming Wormtail once more. 

In his bedroom now, Remus dropped wearily onto the bed. A cloud of dust erupted in response, and the bed springs creaked as though welcoming him home. He suddenly imagined what it would have been like if Sirius had been cleared of all charges, if perhaps he could have come with him back here, even if only for a couple of days— _“Merlin’s pants, Moony, you live like this!?”_ He would’ve barked with laughter. _“Y’know on second thought, I’ve changed my mind, frame me for murder again, I wanna go back to Azkaban…”_

Lupin stood up, abruptly, and aimed his wand at the bed. 

_“Tergeo,_ ” he said, and all of the dust seemed to evaporate out of existence. He stared at it. He had slept on this thin, decrepit mattress for years, but after sleeping in the luxury of a warm, soft Hogwarts bed for the last many months, his bones ached at the thought of lying down here, now. Which was laughable, when he thought of the surfaces he had woken up on over the years: dirt, wood floors, mud, cement, pools of his own blood, chained to rocks, wrapped in barbed wire… he couldn’t exactly book hotel suites for a full moon.

To put off getting into bed, he aimed his wand at his trunk, and with a wave of his wand, the buckle came undone, and objects zoomed out of the interior, each pulled as if by an invisible magnet to its rightful place in the room. His spare pair of shoes flew to the door, his shabby robes to the closet, the empty Grindylow tank to a corner of floor. Books piled onto the rickety dresser, closely followed by an ink bottle, a quill, and a couple of picture frames, which arranged themselves neatly next to the enormous book pile. Remus stared at the pictures for a moment, and then ventured closer. 

They had been sitting in his office all year, and on this very dresser for years before that, but it suddenly felt like, with all this new information he had, all this new understanding, it felt like he was really seeing them for the first time. 

The first photo, him and his parents— he was four in this photo, back before the bite. Back when fear and anxiety didn’t permeate every smile his parents gave. And Remus, well, he looked happy. He looked like he had no idea that horrible things could happen to anyone, much less to him. 

The second photo was at Lily and James’ wedding: the Remus in the picture was grinning and shifting his weight back and forth, to make sure Lily Potter, who was hoisted up on his back, cackling, did not fall off. James was wearing her veil, which flapped absurdly atop his messy hair, and was beaming at both of them, radiating nothing but pure joy. Remus remembered, his stomach twisting, that Peter had taken this picture, and set it down suddenly, as if it had burned him. 

And the third— well, it was a photo that they all had. The Marauders. The four of them— Sirius’ arms flung around James’ and Remus’ shoulders, Peter leaning against James and laughing, Remus, flushed and grinning, Sirius’ head rather closer to his than it needed to be— 

—And then suddenly, like an invisible hook had latched on to him, he was walking towards the closet, bending down, and reaching for a dust-covered box in the far corner, a box that he hadn’t opened in over a decade. Hands trembling, without even bothering to brush away the grime, he opened it. 

A pile of newspaper clippings. A hairband. Notes scribbled on parchment. And on top, a photo James had taken: _“Proof that you lot don’t know the meaning of personal space._ ” It was an absurd picture, and more than a little mortifying, as in the frame, seventeen-year-old Remus Lupin blushed, his arm wrapped around the small of Sirius’ back, and Sirius kept kissing him, on his nose and cheeks and forehead, over and over, purposefully playing it up at James’ expense, dramatically draping himself over his boyfriend, grabbing him close. It was such a stupid photo, completely immature, and Remus had said the moment he saw it “ _You know I always thought my lycanthropy was going to be the thing that would ostracize me from society, but I was wrong. It’s going to be this photo, once it gets out.”_ And Sirius snorted and said, _“If you think I’m letting this piece of **art** out of my sight, ever, you’re mental.” _

Remus had found it at Sirius’ flat, the day after he had been arrested. At that point, they had been broken up for over a year. And yet, it had still been sitting, framed, on his bedside table.

Remus stared at it long and hard, contemplating, and then bit his lip, put it back, and closed the box, shoving it deep into the closet. Looking at old pictures was getting him nowhere. It was ridiculous and unreasonable to do so, considering that Sirius, the real, current Sirius, was free, out there somewhere. They were not kids anymore, they were not dating anymore, but Sirius was alive and not a traitor. Remus had _not_ lost _all_ of his best friends on that fateful Halloween thirteen years ago, after all.

Returning to his dresser, he pulled a roll of blank parchment from his robes, and dipped his quill in the inkwell. The entire Wizarding World might not have known Sirius’ whereabouts, but an owl would find him. 

Wherever he was.

He took a deep breath, brow furrowed, and began to write.

> **_ Padfoot,  _ **
> 
> **_ I hope that you are somewhere safe,  ~~away from prying eyes~~ and as comfortable as you can be. I myself am back home— I suppose the D.A.D.A. curse still exists— remember our theories on that!? Well, my furry little problem got out, it seems— don’t jump to conclusions, I am okay, but I had to resign, obviously.  _ **
> 
> **_ I spoke to Harry before I left. Did you know that his Patronus is a stag, Pads? Just like James. If he were alive he’d be insufferable about it, remember his reaction to finding out Lily’s? As if his head needed any more inflating. _ **
> 
> **_ I know you are probably frustrated about Wormtail’s escape. And I am so sorry— I’m aware that we both already apologized for suspecting each other back then, but if I hadn’t doubted you in the present, perhaps we could have  ~~ reunited ~~ joined forces earlier in the year. Or if I had simply remembered to take my potion, perhaps  _ **

And at this, Remus stopped writing, a ridiculous bout of shame spreading through him. Should he even be sending this letter at all? What’s to say that Sirius would even want to hear from him? Harry had been so quick to blame himself for not doing enough to prevent Peter’s escape and Sirius’ subsequent re-arrest, but hadn’t the fault lied mostly in Remus? Hadn’t he blindly accepted the Ministry’s version of events without pausing to question them, despite knowing Sirius better than he knew himself? Hadn’t he stayed in the comfort of Hogwarts instead of seeking Sirius out himself and finding the truth? And hadn’t he only finally realized the truth, far too late, to only ruin any chance of Sirius’ freedom by carelessly forgetting to take his potion, by forgetting, for the first time in his life, that that night was a full moon? 

His throat constricted, and he swallowed with difficulty. If Sirius blamed him for all of this, he could hardly be upset. They had been brought back together for what, an hour, before Remus had transformed into a werewolf and attacked him? And he had heard Sirius and Harry talking, it had been impossible not to… Sirius had offered to take Harry in, as his guardian… Harry had sounded nearly stricken with gratitude… and Sirius, Sirius had cautiously delivered one of the most genuine, joyful smiles Remus had ever seen at his response… 

Was Remus to blame for that loss? 

He gripped the quill tighter. 

> **_~~ perhaps we could have ~~ perhaps things would be different now. _ **
> 
> **_I understand if you are unable or unwilling to write back, but I needed to let you know that_ **

Let him know what? Let him know that to see his face again after all these years made his heart leap into his throat and his pulse increase tenfold? That when Sirius hugged him, he had nearly cried at how natural it felt, even after over a decade? That he would have done anything for even five minutes alone with him, just to talk, just to talk with Sirius like he used to? 

> **_ to let you know that I am here for you in any capacity that you need me. You are not alone, not anymore.  _ **
> 
> **_ Yours,  _ **
> 
> **_ Moony _ **

Before he could lose his nerve, he rolled up the parchment and sealed it with his wand. There was a kind elderly witch who lived about a twenty minute’s walk away, who had often let him borrow her owl. He wondered with a start if she was still alive— he had been gone for nearly a year, after all. 

He stood and glanced at the calendar, which had zoomed from his trunk and was now hanging on the wall above his dresser. Thirteen days until the full moon. It would be his first transformation without Wolfsbane Potion for a while— he would have to once again lock himself in the bunker beneath the cabin, a small cement room that he charmed shut once inside, with a magical compartment to store his clothes and wand, with shackles bolted to the floor and walls for his arms and legs, with surfaces covered in sticking-out nails to prevent him from throwing himself against the sides more than once. 

His chest ached at the thought that if Sirius had been cleared of all charges, he may have been spending this next moon with Padfoot instead. 

But that was selfish. He was lucky that Sirius was alive, and that Dumbledore had been able to convince the Ministry that he, Remus, wasn’t guilty of aiding and abetting him. 

And honestly, if Sirius wrote him back, that would be better than he could have ever hoped for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi everyone! thanks for reading, and happy pride month! given recent jk rowling news, i just wanted to reiterate that trans people are important and valid and so, so loved, and while it is still okay for us to love Harry Potter and aspects of this world and these characters, we must acknowledge that rowling's identity as a cis straight white woman and that her not-so-great views/biases on multiple things (race, ethnicity, gender, LGBTQ+, fatphobia) permeate and taint the story she's created. But, I continue to be impressed with the Harry Potter community/fandom and how open, loving, and accepting it often is, despite the fact that its creator is not always so. So thank you all for creating this space where we can acknowledge the flaws of this world, and work to try to make it a more inclusive for everyone.
> 
> In regards to this story, I will be attempting to update twice a week! Leave a comment, kudos, etc~ would be so appreciated :')


	2. Hide and Seek

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sirius' stages/experiences of being in hiding during the summer and fall, and his reaction to the continuously alarming life updates Harry sends him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes place *before* Chapter 22 (Owl Post Again) in The Prisoner of Azkaban [***the last one actually did too, i just made a typo in the notes!], and ends mid-Chapter 18 (The Weighing of the Wands) in The Goblet of Fire.

_Mid-June, July, August 1994  
_ _Mahé, La Repiblik Sesel (The Republic of Seychelles)_

> _** Moony,  ** _
> 
> _** Bloody hell, from the somberness of your letter, you’d think you were the one to sentence me to Azkaban. I’m not really in the position to be holding any grudges, mate, I’ve got enough enemies at the moment.  ** _
> 
> _** I know Wormy’s probably scuffling around spreading disease somewhere, but that’s hardly your fault. He’s the traitorous git, not you. And either way, I’m not locked up anymore. I won’t tell you where I am, but I’m pretty sure dementors can’t survive here. Do you think they can get tan, Moony? Or sunburned? I’m asking you because you’re an ex- DADA professor, and you must have ALL the answers to fascinating and relevant questions like this. Has anyone tried giving a dementor a cold, frosty lemonade? Or something else to occupy their mouths? Souls are fine, but you’d think there’d be better things to suck on.  ** _
> 
> _** I just finished writing a letter to Harry. Hey, you know I got him that Firebolt this past year, right? And got him his first ever broomstick too— that’s what we in the godfather business call poetry, Moony. Parallels, you know.  ** _
> 
> _** Anyways, don’t you go worrying about me. Buckbeak’s good company, and I’ve been avoiding any wizards I come across. I only go into town as Padfoot to get  scraps of food from Muggles.  ** _
> 
> _** Missing me though, Moony? C’mon, you’ve lasted this long.  ** _
> 
> _** Padfoot ** _

Sirius had thrust this letter into the beak of a large colorful bird, and tied the one he wrote to Harry, complete with a signed Hogsmeade permission slip, to the leg of the tiny little owl he had come across as he passed over France. The tiny owl hooted and did a bizarre sort of pirouette before flapping haphazardly away. The large, tropical bird stared after it, in something that almost looked like indignation, before too spreading its wings and flying gracefully out of the cave. Sirius watched after them. He hoped the tiny owl made it to his godson before he got back to his Aunt and Uncle’s. From what Lily had always told him about Petunia, she wouldn’t exactly be thrilled to have any sort of magic anything marring her perfect little life. 

But then again, there was a good chance that the owl would simply spontaneously die midair and drop into the Red Sea. He’d use the large colorful birds, native to the island, for future letters. They seemed to know their stuff. 

Sirius reached into the corner of the cavern, behind a rock, where he kept some of the food he had fished out of the trash. He thought longingly of the houses nearby, where yesterday he had sat as a dog and watched from afar, a magical family making dinner together, one of the kids giggling, causing playful eruptions of light and glitter to explode in the air as her— aunt? mother? watched her with unbelievable fondness, absentmindedly tending to a grill full of fish. At the time, Sirius had nearly howled at the grumbling in his stomach, but it had since dulled to an almost manageable ache. Still, he nibbled at some scraps and crumbs, watching as Buckbeak pounced on some sort of small animal, and then turned back to the rock, where Remus’ letter was folded up. He reached for it and opened it again. 

He stared at the writing. He had read it so many times in the last day that he had nearly memorized the stupid thing, and it seemed insane that after all this time, Remus still slanted his thin, cramped writing, and insisted on putting those little hooks on the bottom of his t’s and above his as, like some pompous git. Sirius bit his lip at the thought of Moony, grading papers, giving marks in his handwriting, his stupid wonderful _as_ and _ts_ , on Harry’s own essays… and then he thought of Snape, also working in the castle, probably failing Harry on every word he wrote because the oily little grease stain was still trying to get revenge on James. 

His stomach twisted, but not due to hunger. It was almost funny, that he and Remus, James’ and Lily’s best friends, were now both separated from Harry, but James’ worst enemy and Lily’s terrible sister basically shared custody of him. Sirius knew he had to lay low, and he hadn’t been lying to Remus when he said that it wasn’t all bad: the islands of Seychelles were warm and beautiful, thriving with wildlife and people both magical and non, and after not seeing sun for twelve years, a gift more than anything. He was well hidden here, far, far away from England, but honestly, what was the point? What was the point of being free if he couldn’t have even completed the task of ending Peter’s miserable existence, if he couldn’t be with Remus, with Harry? If they couldn’t all be together, the way it should be, the way it should’ve been— what was the point?

Not that it would be that easy, he thought. He hadn’t really had a proper conversation with Remus at all, besides this letter— they had been a little preoccupied with the rat in their midst. 

He looked at the letter again. At Remus apologizing for nothing that was actually his fault, because, of course. That hadn’t changed either. Sirius was just as guilty in that aspect, but what should he have done— broken out of Azkaban and gone straight to Remus, transforming into a human on the surface of his shiny new Hogwarts desk and declaring his innocence? In hindsight… well, maybe he should’ve done that. But he had known Remus was probably already under scrutiny, and of course had suspected him himself. 

His skin itched. He wanted to move, to go, to fight, to do something, _anything_ , but he did not have a wand, and he was supposed to stay hidden. He wouldn’t do Harry any good if he got locked up in Azkaban again. All he could do now was write letters, read the paper, and try not to starve to death. 

He actually managed it for a fair amount of time, too.

June stretched into July, and Sirius kept his nose down. He wrote to Harry, he wrote to Remus, and, after receiving an unexpected letter from Dumbledore, he wrote to him too. As July waned, he found some rupees on the beach, and, disguising himself as best as he could, allowed himself to slip into town and pick up a cake for Harry from a local bakery. The owner didn’t seem to recognize Sirius or his status as evil-convicted-mass-murderer on the lam, for she cheerfully greeted him and laughed good-naturedly at his complete inability to handle Muggle money.

He retreated back to his hideout, sent a bird to Harry, and combed the local wizarding newspapers for days after that, but no one seemed to have reported a sighting of notorious killer Sirius Black nearly failing to purchase a birthday cake. Therefore, he decided there was no harm done in neglecting to tell Remus he had revealed himself to anyone. He’d go back into hiding, like the good little criminal he was…

But then, one morning, when August was almost over, he woke up to the sound of hooting. Blinking angrily at the sunlight, it took him a moment to get the owl into focus— it was startlingly white, a snowy owl— _Harry’s_ owl— 

He dragged himself across the ground, still half asleep, and the owl fluttered down to his side. She looked exhausted, nearly keeling over as she reached out her leg for him to untie the parchment. He stroked her head with one hand and she hooted feebly, causing Buckbeak to open one eye and look up in interest. Sitting between them in case Buckbeak decided a bigger meal was just what he needed right now, Sirius unfurled the letter.

> ** _“…A weird thing happened this morning, though. My scar hurt again. Last time that happened it was because Voldemort was at Hogwarts….”_ **
> 
> ** _…“If you want to contact me, I’ll be at my friend Ron Weasley’s for the rest of the summer. His dad’s got us tickets for the Quidditch World Cup…”_ **

Sirius stood up so fast he smashed his head against a jut of rock. Swearing, eyes watering, he stumbled over to the pile of newspapers he had collected, snatching up the last few _Daily Prophets_ he had nicked from a British wizarding family, here on holiday… 

** _SCENES OF TERROR AT THE QUIDDITCH WORLD CUP_ **

His stomach contracted. So Harry had been there. Harry had been in the direct presence of a Death Eater rally, Harry had witnessed the Dark Mark— but Harry wasn’t hurt, Harry wasn’t dead, no, no, he definitely wasn’t dead, Rita Skeeter would’ve had a field day if famous Harry Potter had died…

But there’s no way it was a coincidence. Harry’s scar hurting, which had only happened before in the actual presence of Voldemort, and then Death Eaters and the Dark Mark showing up at the very event he was attending? 

Sirius swore again. If he was thousands of kilometers away, squatting in a cave, how in Merlin’s name was he going to look after Harry? Letters took ages to get back and forth, Harry could very well be murdered and have a full funeral before Sirius even caught wind of it— or he’d have to read about it in the newspaper—

Buckbeak stood up and in that moment, Sirius made his decision. Ripping a piece of parchment in half in a kind of manic fervor, he put his quill to the surface of one piece. 

> _** Dumbledore,  ** _
> 
> _** I just received a letter from Harry in which he informed me that his scar had been hurting when he awoke one morning. This was only days before the Quidditch World Cup. The last time that happened, Voldemort was near him. If it’s true you’ve hired Alastor Moody as the Defense teacher, I know you are reading the signs, as am I. I am leaving today to get closer to him. I will write again when I am back in the country.  ** _
> 
> _** Sirius ** _

He stared at it for a moment, wondering if Dumbledore would be upset with him for returning, and then swiftly decided he didn’t care. He turned to the other piece of parchment and scribbled a letter to his godson.

Once finished, he turned to the snowy owl. She looked like she was just settling into a deep sleep. 

“Oi,” Sirius whispered. She opened one eye, looking thoroughly annoyed. Sirius pressed forth regardless. “I need you to bring these letters to Hogwarts, okay? Harry’ll probably be there by the time you get to Europe. Bring this one to Albus Dumbledore, and this one back to Harry, alright?” 

She glared at him. He bit back a snarl. 

“Fine, rest for a day or whatever, but make sure these get to them,” he said, aware that he was negotiating with an owl. She looked at him furiously, but then stuck out her leg, which Sirius took as a peace offering. He suddenly felt a little bad for snipping at her, and offered her some crumbs before tying a letter to each of her legs. She’d go when she was ready, but Sirius was leaving now. 

He left behind any scraps of food in case she wanted it, and pooled together everything he had accumulated: various discarded newspapers, a quill and ink, some parchment, some muggle money. He wrapped it all gingerly in a piece of cloth torn from his Azkaban robes, and hooked it around his waist. He approached Buckbeak and patted his flank. 

“Fancy a trip back up north?” 

—-

_September, October, November 1994  
_ _Snowdonia National Park, Wales_

Sirius didn’t mind hiding out in the forest again. 

Harry’s owl had found him there, her snowy plumage once again sticking out like a sore thumb, carrying a clearly hasty, reeking-of-damage-control letter from Harry himself, asserting that everything was fine, and that he had probably just imagined his scar hurting. Reading it, rather amused, Sirius sincerely hoped that Harry was better at lying in person. After writing a response cheerfully informing him that he was back in the country and not going anywhere, and perhaps maybe to stop using Hedwig as her coloring was a beacon among the trees, he settled into his new hiding spot. 

Muggles and wizards alike showed up along the trails from time to time, so Sirius stayed as far as he could into the depths of the forest areas, as well as hiding among waterfalls that crashed down cliffsides. Although he asked Harry to inform him of everything that was happening at Hogwarts, Harry didn’t reply again for some time. He debated telling Remus that he was back in the country, but he didn’t. He told himself that the fewer people he corresponded with, the better, at least until he made sure no one knew he was back. So, Sirius found himself spending a lot of time as a dog, venturing close to the trails, hiding in the shadows of the trees, desperate for any shred of information.

It was a late afternoon in early November when he heard two witches, clearly returning from some sort of picnic, discussing something feverishly— he had all but given up hope of overhearing anything useful, but his ears pricked up at the sound of his own name.

“…Make fun of me all you want, Clara, but I wanna get out of these woods before the sun sets— Sirius Black is _still_ on the loose, and Bertha Jorkins— you know, that Ministry witch— is missing, and frankly it seems like no one actually cares—”

Sirius padded as quietly as he could down to the bushes next to the hiking trail, alert, listening to every word. Bertha Jorkins was still missing? He’d seen it in the paper, back in Seychelles… but that had been ages ago…

“Dunno, Jasmin, Sirius Black is probably in Australia or something, and as for Jorkins— people… disappear sometimes. I dunno, she’s just _one_ person who wandered off the grid, are you really gonna be paranoid about—”

“I sure am! Come on, a prominent member of the Ministry of Magic goes missing, You-Know-Who’s followers coming out of the dirt after, what, fourteen years— The Dark Mark—”

“Keep your voice down,” the witch called Clara had whispered. She had paused to glance back into the bushes, where Sirius, still disguised as a dog, shrunk towards the ground to avoid the light coming from her raised wand.

“Oh, _now_ who’s paranoid?” Jasmin whispered nervously.

“I just— okay touché, fine, I’m just— c’mon, you really think it’s more than a creepy, one-time thing?” 

“Yes!” Jasmin cried. “I sure do! You don’t feel it in the air? Weird things keep happening— and there’s that rumor that You-Know-Who is in Albania—”

“You-Know-Who is _dead,_ ” the other woman snapped harshly. “He’s not in Albania or Finland or your broom cupboard. He died a long time ago and he’s still dead and unless he’s a bloody ghost, he’s not coming back. So stop worrying.” 

“Easy for you to say,” Jasmin muttered, as they disappeared down the trail. “You’re not Muggle-born…”

Sirius had to agree with this Jasmin witch, he thought, as he returned to where Buckbeak was hidden, and she didn’t even have all the information. Little did she know that Peter was out there somewhere, doing Merlin knows what… Sirius wouldn’t doubt that it was possible that Wormtail had gone back into hiding and perhaps found a nice, new wizarding family to take him in— maybe even a Muggle one, if he was desperate enough— but there was also a persistent uneasy feeling in his bones that perhaps Wormtail was somehow involved in all of this. He was a coward, a massive one, but Sirius had underestimated him before, and look how that had turned out. 

A bubbling fit of fury welled up inside him, followed almost immediately by a terrible loneliness. He was used to being alone, he was _used to it_ , but the injustice of it all hit him harder now, the fact that he had been so close to Remus and Harry—

_SCREECH!_

Out of nowhere, a large barn owl swooped down upon him. Throwing his hands up in surprise, and stumbling backwards into Buckbeak, Sirius managed to regain his footing, and reached a shaky hand towards the owl, as it landed on a rock and stretched its leg out. He untied the parchment and unrolled it, fingers fumbling. 

> _** Dear Sirius,  ** _

It was Harry’s handwriting. _About time,_ Sirius thought aggressively.

> _** You told me to keep you posted on what’s happening at Hogwarts, so here goes — I don’t know if you’ve heard, but the Triwizard Tournament’s happening this year and on Saturday night I got picked as a fourth champion. I don’t know who put my name in the Goblet of Fire, because I didn’t. The other Hogwarts champion is Cedric Diggory, from Hufflepuff. Hope you’re okay, and Buckbeak. ** _
> 
> _** —Harry ** _

Sirius stared.

He stared for a full minute.

And then he re-read the letter once, twice, three times. When he re-read it a fourth, he was surprised to find that he was laughing. 

It was a loud, maniacal, barking laugh, which he supposed was the only sound his body could make, because this was absolutely, utterly _mental_. 

Wormtail had escaped. Bertha Jorkins was missing. The Death Eaters had rallied at the World Cup and somebody shot the Dark Mark into the sky. And now, of all times, Dumbledore had decided to host the Triwizard Tournament? Sirius and James had found out about the Tournament when they were back in school, they had once even joked about blackmailing Dumbledore to bring it back— but now, he was _actually_ doing it? Sirius knew Drumstrang— he knew that Karkaroff was the Headmaster, he had obtained that information from the vengeful whispers that had traveled through the cells of Azkaban— so a Death Eater was in the castle, and what, and Harry’s name had just conveniently been picked as champion— as a _fourth_ champion? 

Under any other circumstances, being a Triwizard champion would’ve been brilliant. James would’ve died to have that title— but then again, James was already dead. And Harry was being targeted, being thrown into a competition that had killed a student before. 

What was Sirius supposed to write back? What could he possibly say in a letter? He needed to talk to him, somehow, face-to-face— Merlin, he needed to talk to _anyone_ , face-to-face, and he wished there was someone he could go to, to use the Floo Network, or something, just somewhere, anywhere— he needed to talk to Harry, and he needed to talk to Dumbledore and he needed to talk to Remus— 

…Remus. 

Sirius hesitated. Was it too risky? Would the Ministry expect him to go to Remus? Maybe not, though— it had been almost a half a year, they didn’t know he was back in the UK, those witches in the forest thought he was in Australia for Merlin’s sake— yeah, in fact, hiding under their noses would be the last place they’d look—

And with that, he climbed up upon Buckbeak’s back. Now that he had a plan, he had to just go, _now_.

“Let’s go to Yorkshire,” Sirius muttered, and as Buckbeak took off, he sincerely hoped that Lupin’s “here for you in any capacity that you need me” promise extended to temporary room and board.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so very much for reading! if you have the time, kudos & comments would be so so appreciated :')


	3. The R.J. Lupin Home for Runaway Criminals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the boys are back :')

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place mid-Chapter 18 (The Weighing of the Wands) in The Goblet of Fire.

_November 6th, 1994  
_ _Yorkshire, England_

Remus had been passively contemplating drowning himself in his tea when he heard the unmistakable sound of heavy, flapping wings.

The sound cut through the background noises of the evening: bugs and birds fell silent for a moment, and Remus looked wearily towards his window. He was slowly putting his teacup onto the coffee table, preparing to receive what seemed to be an entire mob of furious owls, when the wings were suddenly followed by a series of heavy thumps— and even though they were muffled by the grass, Remus could tell they were hooves—

He stood up so abruptly that the tea sloshed over the edges of his cup. He placed it swiftly on the table, hand shaking slightly, and then paused for a millisecond before striding rapidly across the tiny room, not daring to believe it, because a thousand other creatures could’ve made that sound—

He wrenched open the door, revealing the dark expanse of tall grass in front of his house— it was starting to get dark so early now— but he could make out the shadows, the proof that he indeed had an unexpected visitor— multiple unexpected visitors— but it couldn’t be—

“ _Lumos_ ,” he breathed. Heart in his throat, he raised his illuminated wand.

And there before him, a hippogriff stood, tall, silvery-gray, pupils constricting in the wandlight, ruffling its feathers, and then, the man sliding off of his back, the man with matted black hair down to his elbows, the man with a wild haunted look in his dark eyes as they made contact with Remus’ own—

“ _SIRIUS_!?” Remus cried, his voice cracking. 

For Sirius Black was indeed standing mere meters before him. 

And in less than a second, Sirius had closed the space, reaching out a bony hand to grip Remus’ shoulder, and Remus could barely comprehend what was happening, his blood was pumping so wildly, but Sirius’ eyes were locked into his, unmoving, urgent.

“Moony don’t worry, I wasn’t followed— no one knows I’m here, but I need— can we go— can we go inside? I need—”

Remus tried to speak but it came out like a strangled gasp. Sirius took this time to glance back towards the hippogriff, and suddenly frowned in frustration, still talking:

“—Bollocks— there’s nothing but grass here, d’you got anywhere we can hide him— where d’you transform, maybe we can—?”

“—Are you _completely mental_?” Remus cut him off, finding his voice at last. He ripped Sirius’ hand from his shoulder and shoved him through the door. “Stay inside, don’t move!” He hissed,slamming it, and wheeled around to face Buckbeak, who had been watching the whole scene with rapt attention. Remus, breathing heavily, sank into as steady a bow as he could manage, and a moment later, Buckbeak too dropped his head. Remus straightened, grabbed the rope tied around his neck, and led him carefully to the back of the cottage to tie him up. He extinguished his wand only to perform a Disillusionment Charm on the hippogriff, and, praying that would be good enough for now, he walked back round and re-entered his house. 

He closed the door with as much care and time as he could muster, and then, steeling himself, breathing in and breathing out, he turned to face Sirius, who was standing in the middle of the floor between his couch and his stove. They stared at each other for a moment, and then Sirius cracked a sheepish smile. 

“What?” He said. “No hug?” 

_“_ WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN _?”_ Remus exploded. “The last time you wrote me was August, and then you didn’t answer my last letter, and—”

“I know, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Sirius said hastily, bringing his hands up in surrender. “Just once I was back in the country I thought I should limit my owls y’know, just to be safe—”

“ _‘Just to be safe’_ ,” Remus repeated sarcastically. “Yes, _that_ makes sense, considering your consistent history with _exercising caution_.” 

“Okay, I know, I know,” Sirius said, palms still up. “I should’ve written more— and I especially should’ve written before I flew over here—”

“Yes, of course you should have!” Remus cried. “A little warning would have been nice! This was reckless— how can you be sure you weren’t followed?”

“Well, it’s… y’know…” he struggled for a second. “…Dark,” he finished lamely. Remus stared at him. 

“It’s _dark_ ,” he repeated disbelievingly, feeling a bit lightheaded. Sirius shifted uncomfortably. 

“Well, yeah, I mean— it’s dark outside, it’s night, and I was flying above the clouds, and y’know— no one’s even looking for me here, Moony—”

“Well, they will be now!” Remus groaned. Sirius suddenly looked angry. 

“Okay, _stop_ scolding me like I’m one of your students! I’ve managed to survive this long, and in case you haven’t forgotten, I am the only person to have _ever_ escaped Azkaban, which is supposed to be impossible— I escaped capture _twice_ , in fact! I’m not an idiot, I know how to avoid the dementors and the Ministry, I’ve been avoiding them for months now, and a year before that, so stop acting like I don’t know what I’m doing!” He was quite pink in the face now. “So if you’re gonna kick me out, kick me out, but don’t stand here chastising me for something that’s already been done!”

“Well, obviously I’m not going to kick you out,” Remus retorted. Sirius blinked at him. 

“Oh,” he said. “Good. I mean, thanks.” 

There was a pause. 

“Happy birthday, by the way,” Remus said stiffly. Sirius looked at him, surprised. 

“It’s my birthday?” He asked. 

“It was three days ago,” Remus said. Sirius nodded impassively, and with a sudden pang Remus wondered if the last time he had been aware of his birthday had been the day after he had been falsely arrested for Lily and James’ murder. He hesitated, and then walked over to the sink. “…Would you like some tea?” 

“Yeah, that’d be great,” Sirius said. He gestured awkwardly towards the couch. “Hey, d’you mind if I…?” 

“Go ahead,” Remus said, brain swirling, and ignited a fire beneath the kettle with a point of his wand while Sirius set himself down on the couch, letting out a massive sigh of relief. 

“Long journey?” Remus asked, as conversationally as he could. Sirius scoffed. 

“No, just been sleeping on rocks and dirt for a while, Moony.”

“I know the feeling.” 

“‘Course you do,” Sirius said easily, and his smile was almost affectionate. It was silent for a long time, neither strained nor comfortable, and it was broken only by the kettle boiling and Remus transferring it to a cup. He brought it over to Sirius and handed it towards him without a word. 

“Thanks,” Sirius said genuinely, and as he took the cup from him, their fingers grazed. Remus tried not to think about the subsequent tiny leap in his stomach as he drew back. Sirius cradled the warm tea in his hand and then peered up at him questioningly. 

“You gonna sit?” He asked, gesturing to the free space on the couch next to him. Remus pursed his lips. 

“I’m fine standing,” he said curtly. And then, when Sirius said nothing, just sat there holding the cup, his expression unreadable, Remus finally asked, “So can you tell me why you’re here?” 

At this, Sirius’ eyes seemed the triple in size, as if he had forgotten the answer to that question until this exact moment. 

“I need to talk to Harry,” he said at once. “I was out in the middle of nowhere but I heard things— Remus, did you hear about Hogwarts hosting the Triwizard Tournament?”

“I did,” Remus said. “It was in the _Prophet_.” He inclined his head towards his counter, upon which a shallow basket stood, filled with newspapers and an obscene amount of half-opened mail.

“Well,” Sirius said his voice rising. “Did you hear that Harry’s name got picked?” 

“Yes,” Remus said heavily. 

“The _Prophet_ too, then?” Sirius said, sounding irritated.

“No,” Remus said truthfully. “Not yet. I expect they're planning some great big story about it, you know Rita Skeeter…” 

“Harry told me he didn’t put his name in,” Sirius said, brow furrowed. “Which means that someone else did.” 

Remus looked at him. He himself had been thinking about the situation for days. Harry was three years younger than the age limit, but he had, for a moment wondered… if James had been his age, he certainly would have tried to join no matter what, and Sirius too, for that matter… 

But then again, no matter how much Harry _looked_ like James, he had a personality quite distinct. Yes, he had inherited his father’s recklessness and complete disregard for the rules, but he, unlike James, had never really seemed to break those rules for fun or glory. Harry, for the most part, never seemed to latch onto the fame bestowed upon him— he did not crave any sort of spotlight, that had been clear from the moment Remus had had a real conversation with him. Remus did not know him as well as he would’ve liked, but it still had seemed vaguely out of character for Harry to enter his own name in the Tournament. 

“Yes,” Remus said. “I believe it was someone else, as well.” He stared hard at Sirius. “Do you have any ideas?” 

“Well, I think it’s pretty _interesting_ Dumbledore hired Moody for the Defense position this year,” Sirius said immediately, looking up, suspicion on every centimeter of his face. “It’s almost like he was expecting something to happen— you know Igor Karkaroff is there, too, at the castle— Dumbledore must’ve wanted Moody there to make sure he didn’t do anything funny—”

“Well Moody’s definitely on high alert,” Remus said, mind racing. He walked towards the basket, shuffled through it, avoiding the letters, and found the newspaper he was looking for. He brought it over to Sirius, who accepted it, eyes searched hungrily for information. 

“I wrote to him once over the summer, just to update him on where I left off in my teachings, and he sent me a letter back ranting that while he understood that a focus on dark creatures was a major part of the third-year curriculum, I had neglected to prepare them for the Real Threat,’” Remus said, not trying to sound bitter, as Sirius poured over the article. “And as you can see, the night before he arrived at Hogwarts, there was—”

“He was attacked?” Sirius said, still staring at the print. 

“Well, he claimed he was, and the Ministry wrote it off as paranoia, as it seemed like nothing was actually amiss— but—”

“Yeah…” Sirius muttered. “Could’ve been someone trying to keep him from going up to teach— I mean, the night before, what are the odds…” 

They were silent for a moment, and Sirius sipped his tea. Suddenly, a ghost of a smile flitted onto his lips. 

“Chamomile with honey?” He asked, looking up. Remus looked at him wearily. 

“What?” 

“Nothing,” Sirius said, mouth twitching. And suddenly, a memory resurfaced in Remus’ mind, of one night in their sixth year— Sirius teasing him for only ever drinking ‘old lady tea,’ and then proceeding to finish Remus’ cup before falling asleep in his lap…

Remus wondered whether Sirius was remembering that too. But probably not. It was a trivial moment, Remus himself had nearly forgotten… 

“Anyways,” Remus said forcefully. “What, are you thinking _Igor Karkaroff_ tried to attack Moody?” 

“No,” Sirius frowned. “Karkaroff is too spineless to go after Moody himself, especially after he already captured him— and yeah, he’s balls deep into the Dark Arts at that school of his, but I can’t imagine him risking his cushy position to mess with Harry right under Dumbledore and Moody’s noses…”

“What if he had an accomplice of some sort,” Remus mused. “Someone doing the actual dirty work, in order to avoid suspicion.” 

“Maybe it’s Wormtail,” Sirius said, clearly trying, but failing, to make a joke. “Two cowards, teamed up as one…” 

“I think Peter is probably keeping away from Hogwarts,” Remus said softly. Sirius glared at his tea, and then sighed. 

“Well then, swapping guesses isn’t gonna do us any good, which is why I want to talk to Harry,” Sirius said, bringing the conversation back to its original point. “He’s the one at the castle, he’s the one involved, maybe he’s heard something, or seen something— and I don’t trust the owl post for that right now.” Remus stared at him. 

“Well, if you aren’t writing to him, then how—”

“I was hoping to use your fireplace, Moony,” Sirius said, as if this were obvious, and he gestured towards the unlit cavern in the side of the uneven cottage wall. “It’ll be easy, I’ll just pop into the Gryffindor common room.”

“Well you _definitely_ should have written to me beforehand,” Remus sighed. “You can’t use my fireplace.” Sirius stared at him. 

“What?” He demanded. “Why not? If you’re about to say it’s too dangerous I swear—”

“No, I think it’s probably the safest way to talk to him right now,” Remus said patiently. “You just can’t use my fireplace because I’m not connected to the Floo Network.” 

Sirius gaped at him. 

“What?” He exclaimed again. “Why aren’t you— is this some self-isolation thing? You really went all the way to _disconnect your fireplace_ —”

“I assure you, it was not my choice,” Remus said shortly. “It _seems_ that after word got out that I was a werewolf, there were a lot of parents who were— unhappy, which was hardly surprising.” Sirius made a noise of indignation, but Remus pressed calmly on. “I expected that, but as you’d have it, one of those parents works for the Floo Network Authority, and well… I’m sure it’s just a mistake, but my fire has been disconnected since the summer, and apparently, whatever the problem is, it is taking… a rather long time to fix.” This last sentence came out a bit more quietly than he’d intended, and the reality of it was made a bit worse by the look of utter fury that had taken over Sirius’ gaunt features. 

“That can’t be legal,” he exclaimed angrily. Remus almost laughed at that.

“Surprised to see you of all people attempting to have trust in our judicial system,” he said, suddenly feeling a bit better. “Besides, it’s all subtextual, no one ever outright denied me a connection, so they’ll say I’m jumping to conclusions. I can’t very well march into the Ministry of Magic and demand—”

“Oh yes you can!” Sirius cried, standing up, looking like he had half a mind to do it himself. 

“Sit down,” Remus said softly. “It’s alright Sirius, there’re bigger battles to fight right now, and I’m sure it’ll get sorted with time. I’ve written letters.” 

“Right, because nothing solves problems more than a strongly worded letter,” Sirius said sarcastically. Remus sighed. 

“Well, the point is, if you need to urgently talk to Harry, I’m afraid I can’t really help you,” he said. Sirius crossed his arms haughtily. 

“Are there any wizarding families nearby?” He asked.

“Yes,” Remus said, wondering but somehow already knowing where he was going with this. “A few. There's an old witch a little ways down— and a couple—”

“Any of them going out for a spot of tea anytime soon?” Sirius asked innocently. Remus fought a mad desire to hit him. 

“You’re going to break into a _wizarding house_ not three hundred kilometers from London—!?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Sirius said savagely. “I’ve got to talk to Harry, Remus. I’ve got to. Any risk is worth it.” 

Remus stared at him. He looked back defiantly. Remus thought back to his own words, just a moment ago: _there’re bigger battles to fight right now_ …

“Fine,” Remus conceded, and Sirius’ face split into a grin. “ _But,_ ” he emphasized, “You are going to write Harry _beforehand_ and _plan a time_ to meet. And that time is going to be on the twenty-second of November, because I know for a fact that the couple will be out all night beforehand and won’t be arriving until the early morning.” 

“Ah, and Merlin can only guess why you know the intimate details of this couple’s nightly excursions…” 

“You’re insufferable,” Remus said. “I heard it from the old witch when I was borrowing her owl, they asked her to look after their cat…” 

“Wonder what _she’s_ gonna be up to that night?” Sirius said innocently. 

“I will hex you,” Remus said calmly. Sirius grinned at him, a true, manic, Sirius grin. 

“Don’t threaten a wandless man, Moony. And as for the cat, well, cats like me. I should be able to get in and out without anyone the wiser.” 

It was probably a stupid plan, but then again, Remus thought, Sirius had pulled off stupider. In no time at all, he had retrieved the Hogwarts barn owl which had apparently been sitting stoically atop Buckbeak the entire time, and scrawled out the details of the plan to Harry, hunched over the countertop, suddenly full of life. Remus remained on the alert, ears strained to hear any potential cracks of Aurors apparating onto the threshold, ready to arrest them both, but no one came. 

“Sent the letter,” Sirius said, returning from the window. He crossed his arms and looked at Remus with concern. “Look,” he said, voice low. “I— If I can just stay the night, I’ll leave in the morning. I can find somewhere else to hide. I don’t want to— to put you at risk, or anything, I didn’t think this would be such a long—” 

“You can stay as long as you need,” Remus said, the words coming out of him easily, automatically. Sirius’ eyes shone through the gloom. 

“‘Preciate it, mate,” he whispered.

“I obviously don’t have a lot of space,” Remus continued, but Sirius held up a hand. 

“I’ll take the couch,” he said airily. “Trust me, this is gonna be the best I’ve slept in years.” He grinned flashily, and then hesitated and said, “…Hey, Moony, by the way…” 

“Yes?” 

“…D’you got any food? I’m starving.” 

—-

_November 7th, 1994  
_ _Yorkshire, England_

Sirius woke up as a dog, sunken up deep into a couch cushion. Yawning, he transformed into a human, and stretched his limbs lengthwise, the couch creaking in earnest. Rubbing his eyes and blinking in the beam of sunlight that was streaming across his face, he sat up and looked around the room. 

The tiny dwelling was so _Remus_ that it was hard not to laugh. From the books set up above the mantel, to the shabby cloak rack near the door. It was bare and minimal— the counter in the kitchen area, if you could call it that, was almost devoid of anything except for the basket full of mail and newspapers. 

Sirius promptly realized he had to go to the bathroom, and turned to the short, tiny hallway to his left: each of which had a door. He slowly opened the one on the left. 

A bed, a dresser, a closet. Pictures and books on the dresser, and a calendar hanging on the wall above it. And on the bed, Remus was sleeping, poker straight under the blanket. Sirius stared at him. All those years, and he still slept the same bloody way— as small as he could be, contained, neat, unmoving. Sirius, on the other hand, had always been one to sprawl to fill up any surface. They had always started on their own sides of the bed, but by the morning Sirius had always ended up on his, arms wrapped around him, legs splayed… 

He considered shaking Remus awake and shouting in his ear that he was about to use an actual toilet for the first time in over a year.

Instead, he backed out, closing the door as quietly as he could. 

After his miraculous bathroom adventure, he ended up back in the kitchen, and opened up a cupboard to find a loaf of bread. Ripping off one end and chewing it noisily, he glanced over at the basket: He might as well fill in all the gaps in his knowledge with one of the many Daily Prophets Remus seemed to have hoarded en masse. He swallowed his bread, and reached into the pile. It wasn’t all newspapers, though— Remus had mail, Remus had a _lot_ of mail, old mail, as it seemed. And it was all tangled up in the articles, which Sirius thought was most unlike him— wouldn’t he be filing these things chronologically, and wouldn’t he have sorted these numerous envelopes into “answered” and “unanswered” and “in the process of answering” and “starting to answer but fully committing to just forgetting about it and then remembering again weeks later”? He pulled apart one of the _Prophets,_ and one of the letters fell out: it was unrolled and opened, and Sirius could not avoid reading the words:

> _** To “Professor” Lupin, ** _
> 
> _** I hear that you have resigned, which I appreciate, but you should not have gone after the job in the first place. You knowingly subjected all of our children to extreme risk. ** _

Sirius stopped reading, a pit in his stomach. He looked down at all of the other mail, realization starting to sink in. He picked up another letter, this one only one sentence:

> _** As someone who went to school with you, I would like to know how long you have been a werewolf.  ** _

Sirius thought about Remus, eleven years old, transforming by himself, in shame, beneath the Whomping Willow. He grabbed the next letter— he couldn’t stop now— he was picking the letters up, one by one, his anger mounting with every passing second, because it wasn’t enough that some stupid parent had decided to completely cut off Remus from the Floo Network, no, apparently they had all banded together like some self- righteous hateful mob.

> _** You are a depraved, vile monster and you sought to manipulate our children with your teachings. Because of you my daughter actually believes that werewolves can be trusted— and I know that her trust will be exploited by your kind. You have brainwashed her, and countless others, and if she is ever harmed by a werewolf, it will be because of you.  ** _

-

> _** While, I find the news that you are in fact a werewolf extremely troubling, resigning from your post without complaint was admittedly a noble thing to do. I only hope that you learn from the experience moving forward. ** _

-

> _** I should’ve known that the quiet kid who used to shag Sirius Black was a werewolf. Only someone as evil and cruel as him could have a relationship with a beast— ** _

“—You know, reading other people’s mail is frowned upon by most.”

Sirius nearly jumped ten meters into the air, dropping the letter, and whipped around to find Remus, standing sock-footed in the doorway. Sirius did not have it in him to even pretend to be ashamed with himself. 

“Moony, have _you_ read this rubbish!?” He spat, flustered and furious, “Why are you keeping it just lying around? Listen— listen to this—!” He picked up another letter, his stomach boiling, and read aloud. “ _'_ _ Let me preface this by saying I don’t inherently have a problem with werewolves. I understand that it is an awful condition that you did not choose. That being said, I think you and everyone with your condition have the responsibility to keep yourselves away from others that you could potentially endanger. By remaining a teacher for a full year, you put everyone in the castle at risk once a month, and for that, I do condemn you. I suggest you find another occupation that' _ — Another occupation, Moony!” Sirius cried sarcastically. “Have you thought about taking up professional knitting?”

“Even knitting would provide barriers,” Remus said dryly. “Dolores Umbridge of the Ministry of Magic saw to that.” 

“Who the bloody hell is Dolores—”

“She isn’t exactly a fan of ‘my kind’,” Remus said, and his voice was suddenly dripping with contempt, an emotion he very rarely expressed. “Even less so than some of these people, if you can imagine. She was the one who drafted an anti-werewolf legislation—”

“An _anti-werewolf legis—”_

“Legislation, yes,” Remus said, still angry, and looking very much like he had not expected or wanted to talk about this so early in the morning. “I thought it was difficult to get a job before— and well, it was, but this— this made it nearly impossible.” 

Sirius stared at him. Remus put a kettle on. 

“When you said in your letter that you had to resign from Hogwarts…” Sirius said slowly. Remus sighed, looking sideways at him. 

“Dumbledore did a lot to help me. He gave me the job when no one else would have, and _he_ did not tell me to leave at the end of the year. _I_ left because _I_ put all of Hogwarts in danger when I neglected to take my potion. And, I knew that if I stayed, the response would be worse than hate mail,” Remus said. “And he got his fair share of that, too. I did not want to put him in that position, not when he did me a great kindness.” 

“He’d be doing you a _‘great kindness’_ if he jinxed this Dolores hag straight to St. Mungos,” Sirius muttered. At that, Remus smirked slightly. 

“Well, I know he is not exactly a, ah, _fan_ of hers either,” Remus said, pouring the now- boiled tea into two separate cups. “He speaks out against her often, and he went over her head to the Minister of Magic in order to hire me.”

“Well,” Sirius said, a sour feeling still in his stomach. “If Dumbledore is willing to fight the laws of the Ministry itself, you’d think he’d be able to handle a bunch of overzealous parents.” Then he had another abrupt thought— “Moony, what if you told _Dumbledore_ about your fireplace?" Remus shot him a withering look. 

“I think Dumbledore has more important things to be worrying about right now,” he murmured, but if Sirius wasn’t mistaken, he could have sworn there was a slight bitterness to his words. Sirius looked down at the basket again, staring at the piles of parchment and newspaper. 

“Why’d you keep these letters, Moony?” He asked again, but this time, softly. Remus didn’t reply for some time— he toasted the bread with his wand, cracked some eggs— there was almost a full breakfast laid out before he opened his mouth again. 

“Well, I think that burning them would be a bit dramatic, don’t you think?” he said finally. 

“Not dramatic enough,” Sirius said forcefully, and Remus smiled, wordlessly handing him a plate, and taking his own. Sirius understood that, for now, the conversation was over. They ate like that for a while, not speaking, their chewing the only sound other than the birds chirping faintly through the window. Tiny spots of dust floated lazily through the air, and everything in the room looked warm and inviting. Sirius watched Remus sip his tea— the light from the sun made his hazel-brown eyes look almost gold. 

“What?” Remus asked suddenly, and Sirius realized he’d been staring. 

“Just noticing how old you’ve gotten,” Sirius said cheerfully, promptly deciding that he wanted to make Remus laugh. “Just taking in your wrinkles. Gray hairs.” 

“Hmm,” Remus said, raising an eyebrow. “When one remembers your birthday just passed, one must wonder if you’re projecting.” 

“Me!?” Sirius gasped dramatically, spreading his thin, wasted arms wide. “ _Projecting_? What Moony, you don’t think I’m aging with style and grace?” 

“I think it’s a wonder a large gust of wind didn’t blow you off of Buckbeak’s back like a piece of parchment,” Remus said. And then he frowned. “You can take a shower, you know. I have one.” 

“And now you’re insinuating I smell bad,” Sirius sighed. “Is this how you treat all your guests?” 

“Well,” Remus said. “I was _going_ to offer you some fresh robes and perhaps a haircut, but if you’d take offense to those sorts of things…” 

“No, no,” Sirius said hastily. “I’ll take some robes.” He looked down at the gnarled knots of black hair around his elbows. “And maybe a haircut— just not too short—”

“I would _never_ think to cut your hair short,” Remus said, smirking. “Robes are in my room, you can change in there.” Sirius bit his tongue from making a joke about changing right there in the kitchen, and instead turned and slunk into Remus’ bedroom for the second time that morning. 

He walked to the closet, and scanned it: there was a small box shoved in the corner and a half a dozen robes hanging from the rack. He focused on the robes, reaching out to examine them— there were more than a few that incited a nostalgic twinge in his stomach: some of these Remus still had from when they were nineteen, twenty… Sirius picked a faded, navy blue set, and pulling off his gray tattered Azkaban robes for the first time in what seemed like centuries, he slipped into Remus’ robes. They were clean, and dry, and soft from years of wear, and they smelled like him— like old books and cinnamon and chocolate— which of course caused another twinge of nostalgia. He smoothed down the front, and took another look around the room— he noticed the picture frames; he saw James in two of them, and thought of Harry, who, as long as he confirmed it, he would be talking with in fifteen days’ time. 

“Should I be concerned by the amount of time this is taking you?” Remus called from the kitchen. 

“Good looks take effort, Moony,” Sirius called back loftily.

“Well, you never did enjoy exerting effort.” 

Sirius grinned, and opened the door, striking as a ridiculous pose as he could in the doorway. Remus looked at him, his mouth twitching. 

“Well?” Sirius demanded. “How do I look?” 

“Like you’re wearing a tent,” Remus said lightly. “The fact that you’re actually eating meals again should help with that a bit, but there’s nothing we can do about the height, I’m afraid…” 

“ _Eight centimeters_ , Moony, you are _eight centimeters taller_ —”

“And it still shows,” Remus said, fully smirking now. “Come over here, won’t you, let me do your hair.” 

“A man of many talents,” Sirius said, rolling his eyes, but crossed the room to sit on the couch as Remus joined him. “If you cut my hair too short I will end your life.” 

“I’ll try my best,” Remus said airily. “But really, how short is too short… if eight centimeters don’t _really_ make a difference…”

“Sod off!”

Remus laughed, and as he laughed, Sirius heard him say “ _Diffindo,”_ and begin to move his wand sideways behind Sirius’ back, and they bickered and joked as small pieces of tangled black hair fell to the floor around them, and in that moment, in just that moment, Sirius could have sworn they were kids again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading!! happy last day of pride month! please comment/ leave kudos if you enjoyed! :')


	4. An Exposé, A Hideaway

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rita Skeeter writes an article about Harry. Oh, yeah and also.... there's a full moon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: implied possible self-harm, blood/injury mention

_November 14, 1994  
_ _Yorkshire, England_

Remus had never had a long-term houseguest before, at least not since he was a young adult, and the reality of sharing a space with someone, even a space as small as his was… nice.

It was nice. 

Of course, he had shared a space with Sirius before, in… well, in every sense of the word, but they had never lived together— unless you counted their seven years in the dormitories at school, or the earlier years after Hogwarts when Remus would end up at Sirius’ flat for days, sometimes weeks, and then sometimes months at a time… 

But that had been ages ago, ages since he had stayed in James’ parents' house with him and Lily after graduation, ages since he had woken up in Sirius’ London flat with a dog tongue in his face, ages since he had first moved out to Yorkshire, alone. And ages had passed here, in this cottage, avoiding company of any kind: Order members, the ones still alive, had visited every so often at first, but as the years went on, they all went back to their lives, and he to his. His quiet, lonely life. 

But Sirius was the opposite of quiet and lonely. He was loud and excitable, and even when they were sitting in silence, the tiny space would seem to buzz in the energy of his presence. The sheer number of protection spells Remus had cast around the cottage had to be mixed with as many sound-dampening charms as possible— and one would think that the stress of harboring a criminal who could be apprehended at any moment would take a toll, but Remus somehow felt lighter than he had in a while, even though there was a lingering layer of awkwardness that surfaced in moments when distractions couldn’t occupy their time.

There were also moments, the moments when Sirius wasn’t talking about Harry, or spinning conspiracy theories about the goings-on at Hogwarts, or sharing some of his more dramatic stories of hiding out— moments where he would shut down. Remus would be mid-sentence and look up to find Sirius staring at nothing, his eyes haunted, his face devoid of emotion. There were moments at night when Remus would wake up to restless sounds of Sirius tossing and turning from the living room— he would debate going to check on him, but every time he opened his door, the noises would stop. He wondered if he had nightmares. Aside from the occasional light or sarcastic joke, Sirius did not talk about Azkaban, and Remus did not ask. 

They fell into a sort of rhythm. In the beginning, Sirius had woken up before him every morning— his body probably acclimated to awake at sunrise due to living in the wilderness for so long. But as the week went on, he slept later and later, and the morning of the fourteenth Remus found him sprawled out on the couch, face pressed into the armrest and feet hanging onto the floor. He had awkwardly offered to switch, offered Sirius his bed _multiple_ times, but Sirius had refused, every time looking like he was struggling to hold back a joke.

So there he lay, and Remus walked past him, as quietly as possible, but his efforts to preserve Sirius’ sleep were slightly ruined by a large tawny owl swooping through the window, the _Daily Prophet_ tied tightly to its leg. Remus watched Sirius begin to stir as he paid the bird with a tinkling of coins, and start to groan as the bird turned and flew out the window from which it came.

Remus unfurled the paper and stared at the front page. Harry Potter blinked back at him.

“Good heavens,” he said softly. Sirius stopped groaning and opened his eyes blearily. 

“Mmmwha— Wha’ is it?” He grumbled. Remus looked at him. His now-shoulder-length hair was sticking up on one side, and his blanket twisted around him as he squinted in confusion. 

“Remember,” Remus said lightly, “When I said that the Daily Prophet was probably going to do some sort of grand article about the Triwizard Champions?”

“Yeah,” Sirius frowned, sitting up slowly, rubbing his neck.

“Well,” Remus continued, holding up the paper. “Apparently, you’re not the only one who’s interested in Harry’s life.” 

Nearly the entire front page was engulfed by the gigantic photo of, looking like he very much did not want to be there, Harry. Sirius made a noise that could have been a laugh or a groan, and got up from the couch, blanket dragging with him, and joined Remus near the counter. They stared at the picture together. 

“Someone told Rita Skeeter there were three other champions, right?” Sirius snorted. Remus shook his head, and flipped through the pages, completely bewildered. It seemed as though the entire issue was devoted to Harry. 

> **_An ugly scar, souvenir of a tragic past, disfigures the otherwise charming face of Harry Potter, whose eyes, green as emeralds, shined when I asked him for an interview, writes Rita Skeeter, Daily Prophet correspondent. Readers might know Harry as the young boy who defeated He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, surviving the killing curse when he was merely a baby. But Harry is keen to prove to the world that he is not a baby anymore: when he heard that the Triwizard Tournament would be hosted at Hogwarts this year, he was determined to become a champion despite the age restrictions._ ** ****
> 
> **_“I won’t tell you how I entered my name, so don’t ask,” Harry laughs, flashing me an almost guilty smile— but an inside source tells me the young wizard somehow tricked an age line drawn by Albus Dumbledore himself, Headmaster of Hogwarts. Such a feat could not have been accomplished without extraordinary magic, but Harry, modest as ever, does not explain his process. This modesty plus his younger age and small stature may lead the other champions to severely underestimate him in the tasks to come._ ** ****
> 
> **_In regards to the Tasks, which are, as of right now, still a mystery, Harry tells me he is nervous, but not terrified._ ** ****
> 
> **_“Champions have died in the past, but I’ve survived death once before, haven’t I?” Harry says, still smiling, but a bit of the mirth leaves his face. I venture forth with caution, asking him to elaborate. “Well,” he continues, suddenly very far from our conversation. “I suppose I feel the need to live up to my legacy. I want to show everyone that I was worth it.”_ ** ****
> 
> **_The ‘it’ he is referring to is, of course, the tragic double murder of James and Lily Potter. This topic is unavoidable with the young champion, and tears fill those startling green eyes as our conversation turns to the parents he can barely remember._ ** ****
> 
> **_“I suppose I get my strength from my parents. I know they’d be very proud of me if they could see me now,” he says, and his voice breaks. “They were both very powerful and accomplished, or so I’m told— and I only hope by competing in this tournament, I can prove myself to be so, as well.”_ ** ****
> 
> **_Harry’s status as an orphan is well known, but few witches and wizards realize the toll the loss of the Potters has taken on their only son._ ** ****
> 
> **_“Yes, sometimes at night I still cry about them, I’m not ashamed to admit it,” Harry continues. “I miss them so much, and I feel lonely all the time, but I feel being a champion has actually brought me closer to them: of course, I know nothing will hurt me during the tournament, because they’re watching over me.”_ ** ****
> 
> **_[CONTINUED, ‘THE TRIWIZARD CHAMPIONS: ,’ PAGE 2]_ **

“This is absolute rubbish,” Sirius scoffed, his mouth twisting as if he were sucking on a lemon, as Remus turned the page. “Harry doesn't talk like this ** _—_** no way he said any of this.” 

“It’s Rita Skeeter, what did you expect?” Remus said, scanning the next page now. “I’d be genuinely shocked if any of these quotes were real.” He kept reading as Sirius slumped over to the cabinet and pulled out a small block of cheese. The second page seemed to be entirely devoted to Harry’s prowess on the Quidditch Field. 

> **_…Harry is not new to ignoring age restrictions: In his very first year at Hogwarts, he made the Gryffindor Quidditch team, a sport usually only open to students in their second year and above. Harry was the youngest Seeker in the past century, and remains the most celebrated member of the team to this day, often single-handedly winning games for his less-accomplished teammates…_ **

“They interviewed some of his Quidditch Team,” Remus reported, flipping to page six. Sirius rolled his eyes. 

“What, did they say he cries during every practice? Because I've been to some, I can tell her firsthand that doesn’t happen.” 

“As can I,” Remus said. “She did get one thing right I suppose, he is a phenomenal flier…” 

“Just as good as James,” Sirius said proudly. Remus’ mouth twitched. 

“I may not know Quidditch as well as you do, but I rather think he’s _better_ than James,” Remus said. Sirius looked at him, mock-affronted, but even so, he had slowly started to grin.

“Yeah,” Sirius admitted, his eyes suddenly twinkling through the darkness. “He is better.” He dramatically threw his face up towards the ceiling. “Forgive me.” 

Remus tried to laugh but suddenly it felt like there was something stuck in his throat. He turned to the paper again, ignoring the slightly heavy feeling in his chest. 

“Anything else in there I should know about?” Sirius asked sarcastically. 

“No, she’s moved on to discussing his love life,” Remus said, trying to add some lightness back into his tone. “And I hardly think that’s what he’ll want to talk about in the fire.” 

“Dunno,” Sirius said, a grin on his face again. “Maybe I could give him some pointers.” 

“I hardly think you’re qualified to do that.” 

Remus had meant it as a joke, the words had come out of his mouth before he realized he said them, but as soon as they escaped he quickly looked up. Sirius was not grinning anymore: he looked a little bit like Remus had struck him across the face. Remus felt his own face redden. There was a pregnant pause.

“A joke,” he muttered, his neck hot. 

“Of course,” Sirius said, his features rearranging into what looked like an incredibly forced smile. “You just so rarely make them…” 

“Ha, ha,” Remus said, but his mouth was dry and he felt unbelievably stupid. He closed the paper as loudly as he could and dropped it on the counter. “Well,” he said, his voice several octaves higher than usual. “It’s a bit more than I expected, but nothing but fluff.” 

“A shame,” said Sirius, his airy, joking tone a little strained. “I was hoping she might’ve made time for an interview with the person who actually put his name in the Goblet of Fire."

— - 

_November 18, 1994  
_ _Yorkshire, England_

The next few days passed a _little_ more awkwardly than the ones before, and it didn’t help that the upcoming full moon weighed on Remus’ bones and pulled on his muscles and pounded against his head. It was a weird feeling, one he should be used to, but never was: it was hard to get used to the unwelcome craving, his mind willing the moon to never arrive while his body ached for it to come. He’d get sweaty and cold, his hair would stand up on end, and he’d feel as if his weight had doubled; he’d have this racing feeling: adrenaline and anxiety that he couldn’t control, like he wanted to run, run away, run anywhere, but at the same time, he'd feel unable to move. 

The morning of the eighteenth, he woke up feeling as though someone was pressing on his temples and had filled his body with lead. He considered just lying there forever, but a triumphant sound from the other room convinced him to sit up slowly, and swing his legs over the side of the bed. Standing up, swaying a bit with nausea, he steadied himself, and then ventured out into the kitchen. 

Sirius was standing upright against the counter, slicing bread with jovial imprecision, surrounded by what looked like twenty different types of jam.

“What’re you doing?” Remus asked cautiously. 

“Toast,” Sirius said in response. He pulled a slip of parchment out of his robes. “Harry wrote back, by the way. The meeting is set.” 

“Right,” Remus said, still looking at the jars around him. “And _where’d_ you get all the jam?” 

Sirius sighed. 

“Do you really want to know, Moony?” 

Remus had a sudden mental image of Padfoot the dog in a grocery store checkout line, pushing a cart with his nose. His head seemed to pound just a _little_ bit more.

“No,” he said decidedly. “I don’t.” He pulled his wand out and passed it wearily to Sirius, before slumping down on the counter, rubbing his eyes. Sirius stared at the long wooden stick in his hand. 

“What’s this for?”

“So you don’t chop off your fingers,” Remus muttered, pressing his knuckles against the bridge of his nose. Sirius stared at the wand for a second, almost hungrily, and then put the knife down and pointed Remus’ wand at the loaf. 

_“Diffindo._ ” 

He cut through the bread and a slice fell. Then another. And another. And Remus, despite wishing he was back in bed, deep in sleep, couldn’t help but watch him. Sirius looked like he was having the time of his life, all of a sudden. Just slicing bread. His optimism was a little too much for Remus right now, who felt like curling up into one of the jam jars and passing away. 

“ _Incendio_ ,” Sirius said, creating a small flame; “ _Wingardium Leviosa,_ ” the toast levitated above the flame; “ _Geminio_ ,” the amount of toast doubled, _“Praepandium,_ ” the jam spread itself on the now nearly thirty pieces of toast… 

“Hungry?” Remus muttered. Sirius was still looking at the wand in his hand with sparkling eyes. Remus’ stomach was still rolling, but he felt a familiar sympathetic pang deep within it. Sirius probably hadn’t used a wand since the Shrieking Shack against Peter. Despite not being his, it still seemed to work remarkably well for him.

“Actually,” Sirius said. “This is for you.” He slid the obscenely high pile of toast over to Remus. “Full moon tonight.” 

“Right,” Remus said, the unease in his stomach growing. “I was going to— we should probably—” he picked up a piece of toast and did not eat it. “I think it would be best if you transformed and took Buckbeak somewhere— just be careful he isn’t seen, keep my wand and redo the Disillusionment charm—”

“I thought you said you weren’t gonna kick me out,” Sirius said, a slight edge to his voice. Remus dug his nails into the corner of his toast. 

“I’m not— it’s just tonight. I'm not on Wolfsbane potion, I have a— a bunker—” 

“Ah yes, the fabled bunker.”

Remus nearly growled. He wished he had talked about this days ago, but he simply hadn’t wanted to then, hadn't wanted to bring the mood down. But apparently Sirius was under the impression that they’d just pick up where they’d left off over a decade ago, and have a magical adventure under the moonlight...

“Yes, a bunker, it’s magical, it keeps me contained,” Remus said. “There’s no way I can escape from it, but just in case I smell you or Buckbeak, I think it best if you—”

“Well, what if you didn’t use ‘ _the bunker’_?” Sirius posed. “What if we— I dunno, got out of town before evening and then—”

“You cannot keep me in check without James,” Remus said, bluntly. “You saw what happened last time.” He didn’t mean to be harsh or cruel, but he could not handle a fight with Sirius over his lycanthropy, not again, not today, not when he felt this ill. He closed his eyes, waiting for the inevitable, but Sirius merely shoved the plate even closer to him. He opened his eyes. 

“Alright, fine,” Sirius said shortly. “Your house, your rules, mate.” He picked up one of the pieces of toast. “But I’m not leaving. I’ll hold onto your wand if that makes you feel better. And I can cast the charms from the outside, just tell me which ones.”

“I…” Remus thought he should argue, thought he should force Sirius to go hide out in a nearby forest, but Sirius’ face was set, and Remus didn’t have the energy, so instead, he just nodded in defeat, and bit into the toast in his hand. Inexplicably, his nausea seemed to ebb just a bit. 

“Thank you, for this,” he murmured, gesturing towards the plate. Sirius’ face softened.

“It’s just toast, Moony,” he said. Remus didn’t really know how to respond to that, so he continued eating. It would be fine, he told himself. He had never once gotten out of the bunker— the magic and the chains and the nails saw to that. Of course, it would be more enjoyable to be free instead, running through fields with Padfoot— it was something he’d been thinking about for months, but now that Sirius was here, actually here, reality had punctured the fragile bubble of that particular fantasy. 

The rest of the day went much too quickly, and yet every second that passed seemed to add a hundred pounds to his shoulders. Before he knew it, the sun was setting and he was leading Sirius outside, as a dog, around the back of the house. He stopped above a patch of grass, and swept his wand in a great arc. The grass rippled and vanished, revealing the cement room below, the chains and nails glinting, even in the fading light. The dog by his side let out a sharp intake of breath. Remus did not look at him. 

“Okay,” he said. “So you know the spells, we’ve gone over them. Once I’m down there, go into the house, transform back to human, cast a Disillusionment charm on yourself, come back out, perform the charms and— well, just stay in the house, you should be safe in there, bring Buckbeak with you, obviously don’t do anything stupid like— like answer the door for anyone, not that anyone will come or anything, not with all of the enchantments I’ve cast on the house—” the dog nudged him with its nose, its eyes mournful. Remus swallowed, and continued. 

“Usually I perform the charms myself, from the inside, and stow my wand in there but— since you _insist_ on being a part of this— and I want you to have a wand while I’m not— well, you’re going to need to come back in the morning and undo them— the charms, I mean—” He suddenly felt insane. He had managed doing this for years, for _years_ on his own, why had he gotten Sirius involved? He turned to the dog, and was about to call the whole thing off, when the hairs on the back of his neck suddenly stood on end. The sun had set. The moon was rising. He needed to be in the bunker, _now_. 

With one last glance at Padfoot, he lowered himself down into the earth, landing roughly on the hard, unforgiving cement ground. He was sweating— when had he started sweating? He reached one shaking hand towards his collar and tugged at his robes, the blood was pounding in his ears, every inch of him getting hotter by the second—

The light disappeared, and he was plunged in blackness— Sirius had returned, Sirius was performing the charms—

“ _Cubiculum Inhibio_. _Imperturbium_. _Protego totalum. Repello Muggletum. Cave inimicum_ …”

Remus could not hear him anymore, the enchantments had blocked them off from each other, and Sirius wouldn’t be able to hear him either, which was good, because it seemed like every cell in his body was making noise, was yelling, was screaming, and his robes were completely off before he realized that he didn’t have his wand, so he couldn’t just vanish them or stow them away, and he felt a rush of anger and frustration, which turned suddenly to rage, too much rage, _much_ too much rage, much too strong a response, but his emotions were uncontrollable, and who cared if his robes got torn apart because that tiny problem was nothing right now, not when he was on fire— 

And his entire body was screaming even louder, and now he was screaming too— screaming in agony as he latched the chains around his arms and legs, his entire body shaking violently, and his muscles were splitting and knives were in his chest and his heart was pounding and his lungs were collapsing, and he still thought he was screaming but suddenly it seemed like the screams weren’t his, the vocal cords weren’t his anymore, he tasted metal but that wasn’t his tongue, his limbs were thrashing but those weren’t his arms, weren’t his legs— it was something else, those things now belonged to something else, something clawing it’s way out from inside him, taking him over, exploding into existence—

His entire body ripped apart, and then he was gone.

— - 

A sharp cold breeze. 

…Rain? He was wet. Or was it just blood? 

His right arm throbbed. At least it was _his_ arm again.

It was definitely raining.

His knees ached.

With great difficulty and enormous effort, he opened his eyes. 

Well, he had been right. It was indeed raining, the tiny splashes hitting the chains around his wrists told him that— but wait— wait, no, the chains were not fastened. 

Remus’ heart stopped and his entire body went numb. The chains were no longer fastened around his wrists or ankles— _the chains were no longer fastened around his wrists or ankles_ — had he gotten out!? Had he gotten out and then— and then returned, somehow!? How had he gotten out, how was the top of the bunker open, letting rain in— he had cast the protective spells, hadn’t he!? —But no, _no_ , Sirius had cast them this time— and he definitely had, Remus had heard him, so how— 

He suddenly became aware that he was wrapped in a blanket. 

His head was heavier than stone, he had no idea what was happening, only truly sure of the confusion and fear that was coursing through his body. He got unsteadily to his feet, blinking in the rain, his ankles and wrists aching— he saw the bloody marks there, so he must have been restrained at some point, hadn’t he been? 

His mind was going faster than he could process it, but his body seemed to move on its own accord— he found himself scrambling up the side of the bunker, the blanket seized tightly around him, and the entrance of the hideaway covered itself with grass the moment he was out, but he didn’t even look back, just stumbled forward, barefoot through the tall, wet grass, the cold rain dripping down from the heavens. 

Heart pounding, he fell through the front door. He felt ill, he felt sick, if he had gotten out— if he had hurt Sirius, even if Sirius had transformed into Padfoot, he could have hurt him— or what if he had hurt Buckbeak, or— or— 

“Morning, Moony,” A soft voice said from the kitchen. Remus nearly dropped the blanket in alarm. He whipped his head towards Sirius, who looked completely unscathed, drinking a cup of tea. 

“I— you—” Remus spluttered, terrified. “Did I— did I get out? Why was I unchained— where’s Buckbeak?” He looked wildly around, almost hoping the hippogriff would jump out from behind the couch. 

“He’s outside, you actually ran right past him,” Sirius said cheerfully. “I brought him back out after the moonset.” Then he frowned. “And no, you didn’t get out, why—?”

“I was unchained,” Remus repeated, dread still coursing through his veins. “I woke up and I was unchained.” 

“Yes, you idiot, I unchained you,” Sirius exclaimed, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “ _After_ you transformed back. I lifted the enchantments and thought you _might_ be a _bit_ more comfortable without metal shackles smashing against your bones.” He sipped his tea and gave Remus a piercing stare. “And,” he added, “Before you ask, _no_ you didn’t steal that blanket after attacking a sleeping baby down the street. I put it there, figured you wouldn’t want to wake up completely starkers.” Remus felt all of the blood rush to his face. 

“I—” He suddenly very much wished Sirius had left him in the bunker forever, to decompose in peace. But Sirius did not give any indication that he was the least bit embarrassed, and merely sipped his tea again. 

“…Thank you,” Remus said, after a long silence. At this, Sirius _did_ put his cup down. Suddenly, his eyes looked rather red, heavy, exhausted.

“Are the nails really necessary?” Sirius asked, and his voice cracked. Remus did not look at him, and instead fixated on his own bare arms, riddled with tiny punctures from throwing himself against the nail-ridden walls of the bunker. 

“Yes, they are,” Remus said, and he truly did not know if he was lying or not. “Well,” he continued. “I should go put on some robes—”

“—Hang on,” Sirius cut him off, and took out Remus’ wand from his own pocket. “You aren’t going anywhere bleeding out all over the floor.” 

“I can take care of it myself, Sirius,” Remus sighed, looking down and trying to take in the bruises and scrapes of the night. “I have some experience, believe it or not.” 

“Wow, _experience_! I never would have known, that’s really quite impressive, good for you!” Sirius exclaimed sarcastically. “But I too attended seven years of wizarding school, and know how to perform basic Healing Spells, so hold still.” And then, as if he had Apparated, he was right in front of Remus, standing very close, and then he reached out, lifting Remus’ arm so gently that Remus suddenly felt close to tears. There was no point in arguing, there really wasn’t, and Remus was grateful he was here, because Merlin, his hands were cool, and familiar, and so, so careful…

“ _Episkey_ ,” Sirius whispered, pointing Remus’ own wand at his arm, and the wounds began to close. Remus closed his eyes, standing there, letting Sirius murmur incantations, letting his body finally relax, exhaling breath after breath he hadn’t known he was holding. 

“Done,” Sirius announced. Remus opened his eyes. They stared at each other. 

“Thank you,” Remus said, for the second time that morning. Sirius’ eyes were boring into his. 

“’S nothing, Moony,” he responded. “Feels good to use a wand again, anyways.” And he handed the wand back to Remus, and took a step back, giving a mock little flourishing salute. “Well,” he smiled. “Now that I’m confident you don’t have internal bleeding, I’m going to bed.” Remus stared at him. 

“What do you mean you’re going to bed?” He asked, nonplussed. “It’s morning.”

“Excellent observation, old friend, however, I stayed up all night, and I hear it’s actually legal to sleep during the _day_ now,” Sirius said, the normal joking bite back to his words as he flopped himself bodily onto the couch. Remus stared at him.

“You stayed up all night?” He swallowed. “You really didn’t need to do that.” Sirius raised an eyebrow at him.

“What, you think I did it for you?” He scoffed dramatically. “Oh, no Moony, I had a craving to go out for a _drink_ actually, and ran into an Auror. Thing was, he decided not to arrest me— admitted he’s always had a thing for me, actually, and one thing led to another, what have you, and we ended up in a Muggle club seven hours away, dancing naked on a stage in front of a drunken crowd… Cornelious Fudge was there too, gave me a full pardon…”

“Glad I wasn’t the only naked one last night, then,” Remus said. Sirius turned to look at him, his eyes flickering with devilish mirth, and Remus desperately wanted him to make the joke, a joke about them both being naked, but instead Sirius just grinned.

“Goodnight, Moony.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to @Princess_sized for taking 6 years of Latin and creating some spells for me! And thank you to everyone for reading-- your comments and kudos really motivate me to keep writing :')


	5. Out of the Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The only thing harder than fighting a dragon yourself is living with your werewolf ex-boyfriend while your godson fights said dragon.

_November 22nd, 1994  
_ _Yorkshire, England_ ****

“ _Homenum Revelio_ ,” Remus muttered, his wand pointed through the dark, shadowy leaves. Nothing happened: the couples’ house that they were borrowing for the Floo Network was empty. Sirius looked at him, amused. 

“Didn’t you watch them leave?” He asked, raising an eyebrow. 

“Just _ensuring_ they hadn’t Apparated back,” Remus said, sounding a little disgruntled. He pointed his wand across the lawn, at the cottage door. “ _Alohamora,”_ he murmured. The door swung open. Sirius grinned at him, and couldn’t help but clap him on the shoulder. His stomach was alive with excitement, his whole body buzzing— he was going to talk to Harry, he was going to talk to his _godson_ in just a short few minutes. Yes, it was to warn him about potential life-ending threats and gather information about that, but momentarily, any sort of caution and warnings seemed to wash over him, and as they sat together, crouched in the bushes in the magical couples’ backyard, under the night sky, Sirius had to resist the urge to jump up and let out a hearty cry of excitement.

Remus was staring intently at his pocket watch— the sod, of course he used one of those— and then clasped it shut, nodding at Sirius that it was time. Sirius beamed back at him, and swiftly transformed into a dog— this form only amplified his excitement, and he held back an elated bark as Remus carefully put his wand in the dog’s mouth. 

“Don’t swallow it,” Remus said dryly, and Sirius nearly considered changing back to human to respond to that, but he settled on a suggestive wink before turning and bounding across the lawn to the now-opened door. 

He shimmied through the gap, and transformed halfway across the landing. Remus’ wand still clenched between his teeth, he walked directly towards the fireplace, pausing only to softly pet the couples’ cat, who seemed completely unperturbed by his presence, and meowed softly at the touch.

He reached the mantle, and removing the wand from his mouth, he pointed it towards the fireplace. 

“ _Incendio_ ,” he murmured. Orange flames erupted in the grate, illuminating the room in a soft, flickering glow, only to be turned a bright, startling green once Sirius seized Floo powder from the pottery jar on the mantle, and tossed it in. He dropped to the ground, not caring that the hard stone floor cut into his still-bony knees, only vaguely hoping that Harry had managed to clear the room of any late-night stragglers, and thrust his head into the fire. 

“Gryffindor Common Room, Hogwarts,” Sirius said crisply, and his head seemed to spin with the sparks and ash. He squeezed his eyes closed against the whirlwind, only opening them when the sensation stopped. 

Harry was slouched in an armchair before him. Sirius’ stomach swelled. 

He had forgotten, or maybe never realized, how quickly kids could grow. Even sitting down, Harry looked taller than Sirius had last seen him, back in June; his dark hair was longer, messier, seeming to stick out at odder angles. His face was a bit narrower, or maybe that was just because his lips were drawn in— he was staring at something on a table, looking upset and exhausted, and the swelling in Sirius’ stomach was dampened by a second, more powerful wave of concern. He was about to make a sound to alert Harry of his presence, when his godson turned, made direct eye contact with him, and jumped nearly a foot in the air.

“Sirius,” he gasped, and then his face broke out into a smile. He scrambled off the chair, dropping to the plush carpeted floor, his green eyes wide. “How’re you doing?” 

“Never mind me,” Sirius said immediately, noting the sweat on Harry’s temple and the anxious glint in his still-wide eyes. “How are _you_?”

“I’m—” Harry started to speak, but seemed unable to finish the thought. He sat there, crouched in silence for a second, looking like he was struggling with something, and then, before Sirius could urge him on, his mouth opened, words tumbling out of him as if a long overstrained dam had finally broken. 

“It’s just this Tournement, Sirius, I keep telling everyone I didn’t enter, because I _didn’t_ , I wouldn’t even know how to, but nobody will believe me, especially not after Rita Skeeter— I dunno if you saw it, but she wrote an article about the champions, but it was just all of these— these _lies_ about me and she said all of this stuff, made up all these quotes and interviewed other people, and now the entire school thinks I’m some pompous attention seeking git who cries over his parents every night— they all hate me, I can’t walk down the corridor without getting sneered at, especially because the article didn’t even mention Cedric— he’s the other champion— I think I told you— and he’s in Hufflepuff and the entire House is furious with me, and all of the Slytherins and Ravenclaws too— and the Gryffindors are treating me like some sort of hero, which is almost worse, because Ron, Ron— I don’t know if he believes me or not, but apparently that doesn’t even matter to him, because he’s furious, he won’t talk to me, and Hermione seems to think it’s because he’s jealous, which is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard— he wouldn’t want to be in this Tournement, not if he really knew, he wouldn’t want to deal with all the gawking and whispering and people he barely knows hating his guts— I don’t know why anyone would be jealous of me, my life hasn’t exactly been easy or fun, it’s not like I like all of this stupid attention, or getting thrown into all of these— life-threatening situations or whatever, and Sirius, he’s my best mate and he won’t even look me in the eye. I don’t get why he’d think I’d want this— I haven’t learned half of the stuff all the other champions know, they’re all so much older, and the Tournament is designed for people in seventh year, not fourth, and now Hagrid's just shown me what's coming in the first task, and it's dragons, Sirius, and I'm a goner,” he finished, desperation in every word. 

Sirius stared at him. Harry’ breathing was somewhat hitched— there was so much to address, so much to think about and talk about, but Sirius had a limited amount of time— the couple would be back at some point— dragons would have to be dealt with, maybe a Conjunctivitis Curse— yes, that could work— but there were more pressing things first, things Harry hadn’t even mentioned, things Sirius had thought he might’ve been wary of, things he clearly didn’t know, and Sirius had to warn him—

And so he told Harry about Karkaroff’s past as a Death Eater, about how he had gotten released fromAzkaban, he talked about Karkaroff’s ties to Moody and Moody’s position has an ex-Auror, the attack on Moody and how his suspicions about it, he brought up Bertha Jorkins and Voldemort’s rumored hiding place in Albania and the Death Eaters at the World Cup, he spoke about the Tournament, and how it was possible Voldemort knew it was happening, maybe through Bertha Jorkins, and it probably wasn’t Karkaroff who was behind it all, but it was definitely someone, someone who wanted Harry to compete in dangerous tasks, tasks where it’d be easy to get injured, badly, and make it look like an accident… 

“Looks like a really good plan from where I'm standing,” Harry said, his voice hollow. “They'll just have to stand back and let the dragons do their stuff.”

“Right— these dragons,” Sirius said quickly, because it was starting to get late, he didn’t know the time, and Remus hadn’t sent him a signal, but the couple could very well Apparate back into their own home at any second, and he didn’t fancy being arrested in the midst of everything— “There's a way, Harry,” he said, the words rushing out of him, as Harry looked at him, leaning forward in desperation— “Don't be tempted to try a Stunning Spell— dragons are strong and too powerfully magical to be knocked out by a single Stunner, you need about half a dozen wizards at a time to overcome a dragon—”

“Yeah, I know, I just saw,” Harry said, his voice strangled. 

“But you can do it alone,” Sirius urged. “There is away, and a simple spell's all you need. Just—” But before he could finish his sentence, Harry held his hand up, suddenly alert, his face alight with terror. He glanced behind him, and then looked back, panicked. 

“Go!” He hissed, jerking his body forward and nearly obscuring Sirius’ view of the common room with his robes. “Go! There's someone coming!”  


Sirius wanted to stay, he had so much more to say to Harry— yes about the dragons, but other things, things he wanted to say to make him feel— better? More alert? Things he wanted to say to keep him from getting hurt. But instead, without time for a goodbye, he yanked his head from the flames, spinning and spinning until he was back in the wizarding couples’ silent, dark living room. 

He stared at the fire for a moment, fighting the urge to throw more powder in. But it was late, and there was someone else with Harry in the common room now. So instead, he stood up, extinguished the fire, transformed into a shaggy black dog, and bounded across the lawn to Remus. 

The second they Apparated back to the cottage, Remus turned to him. 

“Well?” He asked, seriously. “How is he?” 

“He has to fight dragons,” Sirius responded disbelievingly, pulling off Remus’ traveling cloak and throwing it on the couch. “That’s the first task, Hagrid showed them to him.” Remus’ lips pursed together into a thin, pale line.

“Well,” he said after a moment. “Dragons are… rather hard to handle on one’s own… especially at Harry’s age…” 

“Yeah, no kidding,” Sirius said, now throwing _himself_ onto the couch with an exasperated sigh.

“But,” Remus said thoughtfully, and to Sirius’ surprise, he joined him on the couch, perching on one of the armrests. “If he were to aim for the eyes…” 

“Yeah, I was thinking Conjunctivitis Curse,” Sirius muttered. “Didn’t get a chance to tell him though, we were cut off by someone—”

“Cut off by someone?” Remus interrupted sharply. “What do you mean you were—”

“Relax, Moony, he just heard a noise,” Sirius said, slightly annoyed that this was the detail Remus had decided to harp on. “Nobody saw me, I left right away— but at least I got some information in first,” and he kept speaking before Remus could interrupt again, “He didn’t seem to have any clue as to who may have put his name in the Goblet— I mentioned Karkaroff, just so he was aware, but I still don’t _think_ Karkaroff did it. But Harry was a bit more preoccupied with the social aspect of it all, it seemed— guess everyone at Hogwarts took the Rita Skeeter article a bit more seriously than we did.” 

At this last line, Remus’ face seemed to soften. He sighed heavily. 

“Kids can be cruel," he said softly.

“Yeah,” Sirius said sarcastically. “Maybe some Slytherin seventh years dropped his name in, and this whole thing is just a lighthearted inter-House prank!” 

“Inter-House pranks _have_ been known to turn deadly,” Remus said, voice a little tight. Sirius’ stomach twisted, thinking of decades ago, of James’ and Remus’ reaction to finding out teenage Snape had headed towards the Whomping Willow under the light of a full moon… “However,” Remus continued, thankfully moving on, “I would be interested to know what Moody thinks of the situation… and Dumbledore, for that matter. Harry might not suspect anyone in particular, but I have to imagine _they_ do. Or that they’re at least looking into it.” 

Sirius grunted. If that were the case, he wished that Dumbledore would consider involving him in those particular conversations. It was his godson at risk, after all. 

“I just wish I could help him… more,” Sirius finally said, feeling a bit pathetic, scowling slightly at the ground.

“Harry is a great wizard,” Remus stated matter-of-factly. “He is more than capable of performing difficult spells under extreme stress. And while he does not have a seven year education, Hermione Granger might as well have, and she’s one of his best friends. Besides,” he added, straightening with confidence, “Dumbledore would never allow anything to happen to him.” 

Sirius wanted to point out that Dumbledore had already seemed to have let _quite a great deal of things_ happen to him, but before he could say anything, Remus reached out, and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. His hand was warm, and yet goosebumps arose all over Sirius’ neck.

“We’ve done all we can for now,” Remus continued, his voice steady. “The task is in two days. Even if there is a Death Eater in the castle, Hogwarts is still one of the safest places in the world.”

“Well, I broke into it last year,” Sirius said, a little hoarsely, for Remus’ hand was still on his shoulder. “So it can’t be that safe.” 

“Ah,” Remus smiled, “But the thing is, there are very few people as stubborn and obsessive as you.” And although it was subtle, Sirius could’ve sworn he squeezed his shoulder before letting go.

— -

_Early December, 1994  
_ _Yorkshire, England_

The _Prophet_ article reporting the results of the Triwizard Tournament's First Task was written by Rita Skeeter, and aside from the fact that his godson had survived, Sirius thought it best to wait for an actual report from Harry for the true details— it seemed rather unlikely that Harry had, according to what Remus read aloud, “ _Sought to outshine International Quidditch player Viktor Krum by using the latter’s broom to perform an impressive, yet over-the-top air show. ”_

Therefore, a week later, when Pigwidgeon finally arrived in the early morning, half asleep and barely clearing the window ledge, Sirius was quite anxious to know the actual details. He caught the tiny owl as if it were a snitch, and removed the rather large scroll from its leg as it hooted happily and deliriously. 

“Ah, a cry for help,” Remus’ voice said, and Sirius turned to see him padding quietly into the kitchen in his dressing-gown, his brown-gray hair messy and his eyes bleary. “You’re going to have to let that thing rest for a good month lest you want it to fall out of the sky.”

“Good morning, Moony!” Sirius said cheerfully. “I am pleased to inform you from experience that this owl is too stupid to die.” He held up the scroll triumphantly. “And apparently, so is Harry.” Remus’ face broke out into a genuine smile, and this only filled Sirius up even more, and he nearly bounded towards Remus as the latter put a kettle on. 

“Well then,” Remus said, “Read it aloud, unless it’s confidential of c—”

“ ** _DEAR SIRIUS_** ,” Sirius cried, cutting him off completely. “‘ ** _I just wanted to write and let you know— I finished the First Task, and it actually turned out alright!_** ’ ‘Alright’— unless the _Prophet_ completely turned to misinformation, he did more than alright, didn’t he, the modest little—”

“Sirius.” 

“Right. Er— _‘_ ** _There were four dragons, one for each of us, and they were guarding these golden eggs we had to get— and I got the Hungarian Horntail.’_** ” 

Remus’ eyes widened slightly, and Sirius himself remembered learning about the different dragon types when he, James, and Peter had been studying to become Animagi _(“I hope I become a Hungarian Horntail,” Peter had said wistfully. “We’re trying to give Remus company, not third-degree burns, Peter,” James had replied)._ Sirius read on:

“ ** _‘I probably would’ve been a goner if Hermione hadn’t been practicing the Summoning Charm with me for days beforehand— we stayed up nearly all night before, but it worked out. I summoned my Firebolt to the arena (guess I should say thanks to you for that!)’—_** so he did fly!”

“Yes, shall you pause to pat your back for that one?” 

“I am simply reading _his_ words, Moony. **_‘And for a second I thought it wasn’t coming, that maybe it wouldn’t work, because I hadn’t summoned anything from that far away before, but then it came zooming out of the castle. So I jumped on it and kicked off the ground and flew straight up to get a perspective on it, and then I realized I needed to divert it— so I dove— and the Horntail breathed fire at me, but I swerved, and it missed— and so I flew a little higher, I was circling, you know, trying to make it dizzy— and then, I dove again, but this time its tail got me— I got a small cut, but it was fine, it was nothing, I’ve had way worse—_** _’_ Merlin’s beard, don’t love that,” said Sirius, but he was almost laughing now. “ ** _‘And as I got away I realized that the only way I was going to get the Horntail away from the eggs was to get it to fly, too. But it didn’t really seem to want to, so I sort of had to coax it up. So I rose higher and higher, back and forth, and it kind of followed me with its head, and then, finally, it opened up its wings, and so I dove again, and the egg was unprotected, and I grabbed it, and I got away!’”_** Sirius paused, and felt the pride and hilarity inside him swell to enormous amounts, and he looked at Remus, standing right in front of him, who’s face seemed to betray the same thought that Sirius was having, which is Harry’s recount of the Tournament sounded unbelievably like James after a particularly successful Quidditch match. Sirius turned back to the letter before he could burst, and finished, “ ** _‘I ended up tying for first place, with Viktor Krum— Karkaroff didn’t seem too pleased about it, he gave me a really low score, but I really don’t care, and Ron and I are talking again. Things are actually going okay for me right now— I’m feeling a little better about being a Champion, I guess. Hope you’re safe and well. Harry.’_** ”

“Well,” Remus said, and his mouth was twitching. “I bet you could sell that account to Rita Skeeter for a hefty price. Perhaps we should advise Harry to go into being a Quidditch correspondent.” 

“You shouldn’t be advising anything sports-related to anyone, you unathletic prat,” Sirius said, beaming, and then, because Harry had gotten past the dragon, because he had made first place, because he had survived mostly unscathed, because he had sounded so much like James, because he seemed genuinely, truly happy for one of the first times since they had even started corresponding, and because Remus was standing there, with bedhead and a tiny smile, Sirius threw his arms around Remus with reckless abandon, and it was to his surprise that although Remus stiffened, a moment later, he hugged him back, his hands around Sirius’ waist, and as Sirius pulled away, a tugging sensation in his gut, like a sudden, strong magnet, nearly pulled him forward again, back in towards Remus, nearly pulled his face forward— 

Remus stiffened again, and Sirius froze. They stared at each other. And then, Remus’ arms were falling from Sirius’ waist, limply, easily, and perhaps he hadn’t noticed that Sirius had nearly leaned back in before he stopped himself, but no, of course he had, Remus noticed everything, and the dull, uncertain flush rising in his cheeks was proof of that— 

“Firewhiskey,” Sirius blurted. “You got any?” 

“Cupboard under the sink,” Remus said, his voice rather high. Sirius forced a laugh. 

“Excellent,” he said, his voice sounded weirdly hearty, and he spun around and crouched down, taking as long as possible to take the Firewhiskey from the cabinet, hoping that by the time he stood up again, Remus would no longer be blushing, and they could both pretend like Sirius hadn’t just nearly kissed him.

They hadn’t talked about it. They hadn’t talked about any of it— they kept their small moments of reminiscing to the friendlier moments, moments with James— they never brought up any of the intimate moments of the nearly four years they had spent dating one another, nor the year after they broke up, when they suspected each other, when they each thought the other was the spy… and so of course, a dozen years later, one would think the both of them had more than enough time to move on, to pick up the friendship they’d had, now untainted by distrust— but they’d never had just a friendship, not really… maybe when they were young, really young, but even then… there had always been something. 

But perhaps Remus had stopped feeling that something long ago. Sirius had not.

He stood up, and turned around slowly to find to his relief that Remus appeared to have collected himself and had transfigured his teacups into shot glasses. Sirius poured them both a decent amount. They both clutched their glasses for a moment, and then, Remus said uncertainly:

“To Harry?” 

“To Harry,” Sirius echoed, and they both drank. Placing the now-empty glasses down, Sirius picked up the letter again, anything to have _something to do_ other than stare at Remus— and suddenly, he glanced at the last couple of sentences, frowning. 

> … ** _Things are actually going okay for me right now— I’m feeling a little better about being a Champion…_** ****

“He’s only done one task,” Sirius murmured, reality coming back to him. “It’s not over yet, there’re plenty more opportunities for someone to harm him. He’s got to be careful.” Remus made a bizarre noise, and Sirius looked over in surprise. “What?” 

“Nothing,” Remus said quietly, his face unreadable. “I agree.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading! ❤️ sorry this update took a lil longer than normal!


	6. New Year's Revelations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remus does some serious thinking about his finances, and about his late friend's son.

_Mid-December 1994  
_ _Yorkshire, England_

December cut through the rather mild November weather with rolling clouds of freezing fog and the occasional frigid bout of rain. The weather, however, did not deter Sirius from disguising himself as a dog every so often and accompanying Remus whenever he went into town on errands; in fact, he seemed to gain immense satisfaction by shaking out his sopping coat all over him whenever they returned to the cottage. 

Remus was still for the most part enjoying Sirius’ company, although the stress of his potential capture was something that had, in the passing weeks, been weighing on Remus more and more. Sirius had seemed to be getting more comfortable and relaxed, and Remus had almost, several times, considered banning him from coming into town with him: he was used to making a subtle and quiet impression in the Muggle community, and that was impossible to maintain with a bear-sized black dog dancing around, snapping at his heels playfully. More people had made notice of him in the past month than they had for the over ten years he had lived there. 

There was another problem that had arisen, one that Remus had greatly foreseen and still had tried to ignore: money. 

The difference between feeding one and two people was drastic, and even though he of course had the magic to multiply any food they bought, the dozenth copy of a piece of bread always seemed to lack the flavor of the first. Sirius never once commented on it, never once complained, but Remus was exceedingly aware of it all— of the reality that every _Daily Prophet_ article that arrived thinned out his pockets a little more, and the salary from his last year teaching at Hogwarts would not last forever. Remus needed a job. 

And so a week and a half before Christmas, Remus was looking for just that— leaning against the counter, combing through Muggle newspapers for any sort of help-wanted advertisement, something that was part-time maybe, and forgiving of employees who’s sick leave fell every month on a full moon…

“Hey Moony,” Sirius said, and Remus nearly dropped the paper as he approached. “Fancy a quick trip to that old bat’s house?” 

“Her name is Beatrice,” Remus said, hurriedly closing the classifieds section in as nonchalant a manner as he could manage. “And why?”

“I was thinking I’d ask her on a date,” Sirius quipped, waggling his eyebrows. Remus rolled his eyes, and Sirius grinned in response, leaning over the counter and resting his chin on his hand. “I need to borrow her owl, why d’you think?”

“Oh, right,” Remus said, placing the muggle newspaper in the drawer beneath him. “To send a letter to Harry? Don’t you normally just reply with whichever owl he sends you?” 

“It’s for his Christmas gift,” Sirius said, his grin growing wider. “I need to send an order to the Owl Office, in Diagon Alley, you know— when I got him the Firebolt, I used Crookshanks to drop off the order form, of course, but I haven’t got Crookshanks now—” 

“Hermione Granger’s cat?” Remus interrupted weakly. “The one who helped you go after Peter?”

“That’s the one,” Sirius beamed. “’Course, I’d love to buy it in person, but I thought you’d object to me strutting into Knockturn Alley—it might turn some heads, probably wouldn’t help with my current reputation—”

“—Knockturn— _Knockturn Alley_?”

“Yes,” Sirius said, showing all his teeth in what he probably intended to be a guiltless smile, but it only succeeded in making him look a bit deranged.

“…Okay,” Remus said, trying to imagine why Sirius would think a shrunken head or a cursed pair of earrings would be on the top of Harry’s holiday wish list. “And _what_ gift exactly are you intending to purchase from _Knockturn Alley_?”

“A knife,” he said. Remus stared at him, trying as hard as he possibly could not to roll his eyes again. 

“You’re getting Harry a knife for Christmas,” Remus said dully. “Very festive. What, do you think the Second task will involve a significant amount of stabbing?” 

“Interesting prediction,” Sirius pondered thoughtfully. “But I am devastated to inform you that this knife isn’t _for_ stabbing.” 

“What’s it for, spreading butter?” 

“An _excellent_ joke, Moony, but no— it unlocks nearly any door, unties any knot,” Sirius said, puffing his chest up a bit. “I thought it would come in handy if he ever—”

“—Needed to creep around the castle after hours?” Remus finished for him, mouth twitching against his will. Sirius crossed his arms haughtily. 

“You _know_ I don’t necessarily want Harry sneaking about right now, not with everything that’s going on—”

“Interesting choice then, to get him an item that would make ‘sneaking about’ far more accessible—”

“I think it’s a _useful_ thing to have,” Sirius maintained. “This way he can’t be… trapped anywhere.” And he seemed quite convinced that that was argument enough, or even an argument at all. Remus sighed. 

“And this _useful_ knife,” he said. “It’s only available in Knockturn Alley?”

“Well it breaks through locks even _Alohamora_ can’t, so it’s not exactly a mainstream object,” Sirius said airly, waving his hand. “Don’t worry, it isn’t cursed or powered by Dark magic or anything, it’s just—” 

“—Just probably not on the Hogwarts packing list of acceptable items,” Remus finished for him again. Sirius grinned. 

“Now Moony,” he sang. “How many unacceptable items did you turn a blind eye towards in your days of being a Prefect?” 

“No more than James did as Head Boy, considering he was often the one smuggling them in,” Remus retorted, and Sirius barked with laughter. 

Remus smiled too. How could he not? 

“Okay,” he said. “But you can’t come with me, she’s afraid of dogs.” Sirius scowled. 

“I wanted to go for a walk,” he muttered, but handed over the slip of parchment in defeat. Remus took it, and glanced down. 

> **_The Owl Office  
> _ ** **_Diagon Alley  
> _ ** **_London, UK_ ** ****
> 
> **_OWL OFFICE ORDER FORM:_ ** ****
> 
> **_Item:_** Aperī́re Penknife  
>  **_Cost:_ ** 120 Galleons  
>  **_Store:_ ** Borgin & Burkes  
>  **_Alley: Diagon_** __ **_Knockturn_** X  
>  **_Method of Payment: Gringotts Vault #:_** 711 **_Initial:_** S.O.B.  
>  **_Recipient of Item:_** Harry James Potter, Third Bed to the Left, Boys Dormitory in Gryffindor Tower, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry, Scotland, UK  
>  **_Requested Delivery Date:_ ** 25th December 1994  
>  **_Requested_** **_Delivery Time: Early Morning_** X **_Mid-morning_** __ **_Noon_ __ _Afternoon__ Evening___**

Remus stared at the tiny number. One hundred and twenty Galleons. ****

_One hundred and twenty Galleons._

“What?” Sirius demanded. Remus looked up, startled. 

“What?” 

“You made a face.” 

“I did not,” Remus lied. 

“Yes you did,” Sirius scowled. “I know you’re all worried I’m gonna get caught, but I’ve done this before— you know goblins, they wouldn’t care if I rode into Gringotts naked on Buckbeak as long as I was there for business. They don’t tell the Ministry anything.” 

That of course hadn’t been why Remus had made a face at all. Or, he supposed that wasn’t entirely true— any moment that Sirius drew extra attention to himself, he got a pit in his stomach, but he kept telling himself that there was no use in starting a row _every_ time. For the most part in the last two months, Sirius just _talked_ about wanting to take huge stupid risks, but he never actually took them.

So, no. He supposed the “face” Sirius called him out for making had been inspired by something else. 

“I know,” Remus responded to him, trying to plaster on a smile. “I agree that it’s safe. I’ll go send it now.” 

“Thank you,” Sirius said, and then, glumly: “I’ll… be here.” 

Remus left the cottage rather quickly.

He could have just Apparated to Beatrice’s house, but, like Sirius had said, he too wanted to go on a walk— _needed_ to go on a walk. But alone. It was only fifteen or so minutes. 

As he reached the end of the quiet gravel road, he looked back down at the order form clenched in his hand. 

Should he have gotten Harry a present? Should he _get_ Harry a present?

He definitely couldn’t afford anything that cost 120 Galleons. 

He kept walking, ignoring the lump that was rising in his throat. 

He hadn’t gotten Harry a present last year, had he? And yet he had been staying at the castle, and had a steady salary, yes, that salary was the only money he _did_ have, but still… but no, it would have been inappropriate, wouldn’t it have been? He had been his teacher, after all, and Harry had not known the extent of Remus’ connection to his parents, not at that time… 

No, this time last year Harry had come to him and asked for help with Dementors. That had been Remus’ Christmas gift to him: watching Harry screaming at the boggart, screaming that had turned to crying— the number of times that Harry had suddenly, without warning, dropped to the dusty classroom floor, and Remus had lurched forward to slow his fall… the number of times that Harry re-woke, awkwardly wiping away the wetness on his cheeks, and mumbled that he had heard Lily scream, that he had heard James call out for Lily to run, while James had faced Voldemort alone… 

And Remus had wanted to reach out and grab him, hug him, hold him, tell him everything he knew about James and Lily Potter, about how they were the bravest people he’d known, about how he had loved them, and that they had loved Harry more than anything in the world…

But he hadn’t done that. Because Harry would have asked him questions, questions Remus hadn’t been ready to answer at that time… questions about Sirius, questions about Lily and James’ death, questions about where Remus had been those past twelve years, about why he’d never sought Harry out—

He swallowed hard. He was not Harry’s godfather, Sirius was. Sirius had the money to support him, to give him gifts— Sirius had been James’ best friend— and Sirius, despite what the entire wizarding world thought, had never been the one to put Harry in danger. It was Remus who had done that. 

He reached Beatrice’s cottage, and rapped on the door. She opened it with a smile. 

“Remus, how are you, dear boy?” She smiled knowingly. “Here to usurp my owl?” 

“I do not deserve your generosity,” Remus blurted, completely unplanned, and it came out far more emotional than it should have. She laughed good-naturedly and waved him off. 

“You know quite well that at my age, there are few friends left to send letters to,” she said, the skin around her eyes crinkling in a sad smile, and then gestured towards the large owl perched on her windowsill. “And if you weren’t giving old Wobles here something to do, he’d drop dead too, of sheer boredom.” 

In the entire time since he’d returned, she’d never once acknowledged the very public reveal of his lycanthropy: she either hadn’t heard, or she had, and it, for some unbelievable reason, simply hadn’t bothered her. He was too afraid to ask: the next full moon was in two days. 

“Thank you,” he murmured, and tied the parchment to the owl’s leg. It took off into the late morning sky. They both watched it go.

“Oh,” Beatrice said suddenly. “I wanted to tell you. There’s a Muggle bakery in town. Just opened. They need someone to man the cash register, I heard.” 

Remus felt his cheeks grow pale. He kept staring resolutely at the clouds above.

“I just thought I’d let you know,” she continued. “In case you happen to be— happen to know anyone who is looking for a job. Muggle or… or otherwise.” 

He looked at her. She was looking at him with kindness, and perhaps pity. He hated pity, hated it— but it felt a little different coming from her. He wondered why he never stayed to actually chat— he always just thanked her, and left. For years he had done that. He hadn’t told her that he had been hired to teach at Hogwarts when Dumbledore had come to call, and he suddenly wondered if she had indeed noticed his absence last year. 

“Thank you for telling me,” he said, his voice strained. She smiled hesitantly. 

“Any time, dear.” 

And he bid her farewell, before walking down the gravel pathway, back to his cottage, where Sirius was waiting. 

— -

_January 4th, 1995  
_ _Yorkshire, England_

The full moon came and went, Christmas came and went, and the new year brought with it some of the first legitimate snow of a winter dominated by freezing rain.

They had very decidedly not celebrated the holidays, barring a quiet “Happy Christmas, Moony,” from Sirius and a shot of firewhiskey on New Year’s Eve: and Remus was thankful for this, because it made it easier to remind himself that they were not _living together_ , not like that— Sirius hadn’t moved in, he was a temporary houseguest. 

But after two months, temporary starts to bleed into long-term, and long-term becomes— well. He was just accustomed to Sirius being there, that was all. 

And that morning, he woke up with a dog nose in his face. 

Remus sighed. 

“Is it snowing?” 

The dog wagged its tail. 

“And you’d like to go outside.”

_Woof._

Remus sighed again. The dog looked at him with huge, pleading eyes. 

“You know,” Remus said, pulling away the blanket and sliding his bare feet into a pair of boots. “You could have just taken my wand and extended the protection charms yourself. No need to wake me up before the sunrise.” 

The dog gave him a look that very clearly said _But what’s the fun in that?_ And Remus found himself already pulling his dressing gown on. 

“Come on then,” he said, and the dog padded excitedly behind him, staring at him as he pulled on his heavy wool cloak, its tail moving so fast it was a blur. Remus stepped outside first, and out, murmuring incantations, extending the circumference of the bubble of protective charms. The moment the last spell was cast, Padfoot barked with elation, and shot from around Remus’ legs into the quickly accumulating snow. 

Barking wildly, he dove into a snowbank, rolling around, tongue lolling haphazardly out of his mouth. Remus rolled his eyes but could not quell the smile that was growing on his face: it was impossible to see Sirius like this and not remember happier times— mid-winter on an empty Quidditch field, James flying a meter above the ground, roaring with laughter as Padfoot chased him, panting and slobbering— Remus watching the whole affair from the sidelines, until James flew right by him, and Padfoot tackled him to the snowy ground— _“Sirius you prat, you made me drop my tea”_ — Peter cracking up until James crashed into _him_ — all of them lying in the snow, cackling…

Remus ventured farther outside, now looking away from Sirius to the skies above. Flakes were swirling down in glorious spirals, and the sun was beginning to rise, lightening the clouds obscuring it. 

Like clockwork, an owl swooped towards them, dropping _The Daily Prophet_ in Remus’ hands and stopping only to collect the small pile of Knuts Remus gave him in exchange. It flew away, disappearing into the snow, just as the shaggy, sopping-wet black dog rejoined him, sitting at his feet. Remus looked down questioningly. 

“Are you done?” 

_Woof._

“Well, it’s cold, so I think we should be going back inside.” 

…. _Woof._

They re-entered the cottage, Sirius transforming back to human once the door was closed. He shook his head back and forth like a dog anyways, bits of ice flying every which way out of his long black hair. Remus automatically pointed his wand at him, casting a warming charm, any ice still stuck to Sirius melting, and evaporating into the air. 

“Thank you,” Sirius said in an odd voice. 

“Mhm,” Remus nodded, tearing his eyes away from a particular stubborn drop that was still traveling down Sirius’ jawline. He looked at the newspaper without really seeing it, opening to a random page. 

“Hang on,” Sirius muttered, reaching forward and pulling out a page. “What’s this?” Remus pulled himself together and focused on the article that Sirius was frowning at. 

> **_DUMBLEDORE’S GIANT MISTAKE_ **
> 
> **_Albus Dumbledore, eccentric Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, has never been afraid to make controversial staff appointments—_ **

Remus’ stomach clenched as Sirius’ frown deepened. Remus had only just stopped receiving hate mail back in September, and really did not need any reminders to Hogwarts parents of his ‘controversial staff appointment’— but, shockingly, the article did not mention him— instead, it, for the most part, had focused on one person: Hagrid. 

> **_…Rubeus Hagrid, who admits to being expelled from Hogwarts in his third year, has enjoyed the position of gamekeeper at the school ever since…._ ** ****
> 
> **_…the Daily Prophet has now unearthed evidence that Hagrid is not - as he has always pretended - a pure-blood wizard. He is not, in fact, even pure human…_ ** ****
> 
> **_…Perhaps Harry Potter is unaware of the unpleasant truth about his large friend - but Albus Dumbledore surely has a duty to ensure that Harry Potter, along with his fellow students, is warned about the dangers of associating with part-giants…_ **

Sirius looked up from the paper, his face drawn and furious. Remus’ own face felt hot. 

“Bloody hell,” Sirius said, as if that meant anything. He hesitated. And then, “Did you kn—”

“Of course I knew,” Remus snapped, putting the paper down roughly on the counter. He felt flames licking the insides of his stomach.

“He told you?” Sirius asked. “When we were at school? Or, when you were hired—?” 

“No,” Remus said, and his words were shaking. “Of course he didn’t tell me.” His blood seemed to be moving faster through his veins. It did not take advanced studies to deduce Hagrid’s origins, but to publish it in the _Daily Prophet_ , to put him on display in front of the entire Wizarding World… well, Remus knew what that was like… 

“I swear to Merlin, there’s no Hogwarts without Hagrid… if Dumbledore sacks him…” Sirius growled. Remus’ neck nearly snapped he looked at him so fast. 

“He won’t,” Remus said, his words tight and cutting: he was suddenly quite angry. Sirius shot him a look. 

“He sacked you.” 

“He did not,” Remus snapped: how many times had he explained this to Sirius!? “You know very well that I resigned. I put Harry and his friends in danger.” 

“Well, what do you think are the chances Hagrid resigns then?” Sirius retorted angrily. “After the whole world reads this rubbish!?” Remus looked away, not wanting to answer, his head swirling. _…Perhaps Harry Potter is unaware of the unpleasant truth about his large friend…_ he thought back to Harry, rushing into his office at the end of the last school year, begging Remus to stay and teach… 

It was so unfair, it was so cruel, cruel that people could say one thing, one secret, one awful, shameful secret, and then someone’s entire life is ruined— no longer a person, but a thing, a monster to be feared— people who used to give smiles on the streets suddenly start turning in the other direction… Hagrid could not help who his parents were, any less than Remus could help that he had been attacked at the age of five… and Dumbledore understood that, Dumbledore cared, but the rest of the world… well, Remus had put students at risk, perhaps he deserved it, but Hagrid hadn't, Hagrid wouldn't...

But suddenly Sirius had started to laugh. 

“What?” Remus asked sharply. Sirius grinned. 

“I just think it’s funny,” he said. “This bit about Harry— Skeeter is out here hoping he understands the dangers of associating with a half-giant… I wonder what she’d do if she found out he sends monthly letters to me… a convicted-mass murderer…” 

And what Sirius did not understand, Remus thought, is that even though Sirius had supposedly murdered a dozen Muggles, there were some wizards that would see Hagrid to be just as dangerous, despite him never hurting anyone. 

He strode to the door, abruptly. Sirius stopped laughing. 

“Where are you going?” He asked. 

“Into town,” Remus said. 

“I’ll come with you,” Sirius said immediately. “It’s icy out, I want to slide down the hill near the—” 

“No,” Remus said. And then, more gently, because Sirius looked rather wounded: “I just need to run a quick errand. We need food. I’ll be back soon.” 

And he turned and Apparated before Sirius could respond. He would not return to the cottage until he had stopped by the new Muggle bakery in town and filled out a job application.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading!! kudos & comments are so appreciated :')


	7. Dumbledore's Advice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sirius wants to go to Hogsmeade. Remus does not want him to risk it.

_Late January- Early February, 1995_   
_Yorkshire, England_

January had seemed to drag on forever, and to Sirius, every passing second felt like an entire month in itself.

Every day was the same: waking up, and then combing the Daily Prophet for news. Some days, Remus brought him into town as a dog. Some days, he turned into a dog and hunted larger mammals for Buckbeak to snack on. But Buckbeak was getting anxious, and so was Sirius— and so, he had started to transform at night, and slip away while Remus was sleeping. He’d move as quietly as he could, swiftly but carefully, until he was far enough away that he’d break out into a bounding run, streaking through the darkness.

Sometimes, Remus would go to bed early enough that when Sirius left, the people in town would still be awake. They were nearly all Muggles, but the wizarding couple whose fireplace he’d used months ago really enjoyed their nightlife, and he often followed them from a distance, desperate to hear snatches of information, rumors that had perhaps not made it to the papers. He’d slip back into the cottage before Remus awoke, and would often fall asleep as a dog, because his emotions in that form were… less complicated. He didn’t dream, or he did, but not like he did when he was human.

Which was a relief, because the spectrum of dreams he’d been having… well, it was always a rather bizarre shock to be having a nightmare about Azkaban one night, and a rather _different_ sort of dream about Remus the next night— dreams that had him waking up feeling much too warm, dreams that if Remus performed Legilimency on him, he wouldn’t be able to look Sirius in the eye perhaps ever again. So instead, he slept as a dog, in the wee hours of the morning, to avoid it altogether.

He had to keep reminding himself why they broke up— not that it had been _Sirius’_ choice, no— quite the opposite, in fact— but those reasons were still there, and twelve years had not changed them. It didn’t help that Remus had hated him all that time, thinking him a mass murderer. That must have been hard to turn off— Sirius didn’t think he would ever, _ever_ stop hating Peter.

But in the same vein, he didn’t think he’d ever stop feeling the way he did for Remus.

But he could try and ignore it. There were other things to focus on, after all— the most important thing being Harry. Of course, there wasn’t much he could do about him, either, not from all the way out there, but he kept telling himself, over and over, the fact that Remus kept impressing on him, which was that staying hidden now was the best way to help Harry for the long run.

Everything changed, however, with the next letter that Harry sent him.

> **_Dear Sirius,_ ** ****
> 
> **_Late last night I was walking around the castle (don’t worry, I was wearing my Invisibility Cloak), and I was looking at the map and saw that Barty Crouch was in Snape’s office. I don’t know if you know him, but he works at the Ministry, and he’s helping run the Triwizard Tournament, only he hasn’t been showing up to any of the events or to work— Ron’s brother Percy works for him, and says he’s been ill. But clearly he’s not too ill to sneak into Hogwarts in the middle of the night and search Snape’s office— it definitely seemed like he was looking for something._ ** ****
> 
> **_Snape was really upset about it— he was in the corridor, too, yelling at Filch that the cupboard in his office was open— he didn’t catch Crouch, I guess, because he thought it was a student who broke in. And then Professor Moody showed up, and apparently_ ** **_he_ ** **_has also searched Snape’s office before, on_ ** **_Dumbledore’s_ ** **_orders! He also said that Dumbledore had given Snape a second chance— I don’t reckon you know anything about that, do you? I talked to Moody afterwards, and he said that Crouch was obsessed with catching dark wizards— maybe Crouch was looking for something in Snape’s office that Moody missed when he searched it? Something that Snape was hiding from Dumbledore?_ ** ****
> 
> **_Let me know what you think. Hope you’re safe._ ** ****
> 
> **_—Harry_ **

Sirius stared at the parchment in his hands. His brain spiraling.

“What’s the matter?”

Sirius looked up, startled— he had nearly forgotten Remus was in the room with him. Numbly, he handed him the letter. Remus took it, frowning, and read it through, mouthing the words as he went. He looked up at the end, perturbed.

“But why in Merlin’s name would Barty Crouch—?”

“I’ve got to go,” Sirius cut him off. Remus blinked.

“Go?” He repeated. “What do you mean, go?”

“I mean,” Sirius said, impatiently, “I’ve got to go to Harry— to Hogwarts, or nearby at the very least— as soon as possible— maybe I can sneak onto the grounds through the forest again—”

“Are you mental?” Remus demanded, and his face was suddenly quite pale. “Sirius, absolutely not— it’s risky enough that you’re back in the UK, but to go to Hogwarts would be _incredibly_ dangerous!”

“ _Harry_ is in danger!” Sirius exclaimed. “His name in the Goblet, ex-Death Eaters lurking about the castle, Ministry officials searching the place for signs of dark magic, two more tasks to go, and he’s skulking about past curfew and listening in on confidential conversations— we _know_ that someone is after him, Remus, he could be attacked at any moment!”

“And if you go to Hogwarts, he won’t be the only one!” Remus cried, “Moody and Crouch are, apparently, on the hunt for dark wizards, and in case you’ve forgotten, in their eyes, that includes you!”

“I haven’t forgotten, funny enough,” Sirius said cooly.

“Well, in that case, I think you’d agree that strutting right into the castle seems like a pretty foolish thing to do!” Remus insisted. “Isn’t Barty Crouch the one who—”

“Yes, he sent me to Azkaban,” Sirius finished for him. “And yes, the day I escaped was probably a tough one for him, and _yes_ , he would wet his pants at the chance to chuck me in there again.” It was all he could keep from throwing his hands up in exasperation. “But, don’t forget, I snuck into the castle when every dementor, teacher, student, and bloody painting was looking for me, and for all intents and purposes, I would have gone uncaptured if—”

“If I hadn’t transformed,” Remus said softly.

“No,” Sirius said forcefully. “Would you _stop_ blaming yourself for that? I told you, a million times, it’s Wormtail’s fault— it’s all Wormtail’s fault.” _And mine a bit_ , he thought, _for trusting the little bastard in the first place._

There was a brief pause, while Remus skimmed the letter again, his eyes darting around the page.

“Why on earth would Dumbledore order Moody to search Severus’ office?” Remus muttered. “That seems ridiculously out of character.” Sirius actually did throw his hands up this time.

“Merlin knows!” He cried. “Maybe being a slimy git is a criminal offense now! Moody’s probably searching _every_ office, And Barty Crouch has never been ill a day in his life, his own son’s death didn’t make him break a sweat! And Harry’s in the middle of all this, and—” he took a deep breath to calm himself. “I’ve got to go.”

“Wait,” Remus said desperately. “Write Dumbledore.”

Sirius stared at him.

“What?”

“At least write to Dumbledore,” Remus reiterated, composing himself a bit. “Before you go blasting off to Hogwarts without a plan. Ask him first if he thinks it’s— worth the risk. And if not, then just— just stay here.”

Sirius looked at him.

It wasn’t a bad idea. Dumbledore hadn’t objected to him coming back to the UK, after all— he had answered Sirius’ letter without a shred of scolding, without a warning, or even a suggestion to turn back… not that Remus knew that. No, Remus was probably banking on the idea that Dumbledore would advise against it— so maybe getting Dumbledore to vouch _for_ it would change his mind.

He frowned.

On one hand, he very much wanted to get to Harry as soon as possible, and waiting for a response from Dumbledore would just prolong the time that took, but on another hand, to go to Hogwarts and have Dumbledore know he was there, it would be… quite helpful to have that added factor of protection. And there would of course be the fact that Remus would feel better about it all… and if Dumbledore _did_ say no, well… owls get lost…

“Okay,” Sirius huffed. “I’ll write to Dumbledore.” Remus blinked.

“…Really?” He asked, looking surprised.

“Sure,” Sirius shrugged. “Have you got a quill?” Remus paused for a moment, still seeming a bit shocked, and then nodded, disappearing into his room and reappearing with parchment, a quill, and a bottle of ink. Sirius accepted the items, and hunched over the table to begin scribbling as Remus talked nonstop in his ear.

“…And we both know Dumbledore simply has a better understanding of what’s happening at Hogwarts at the moment,” Remus was explaining, as Sirius wrote. “He’ll know what is safest for you _and_ for Harry…”

Sirius merely grunted in response— he was already writing the letter, so this continued convincing was greatly unneeded— he tried not to feel annoyed by the fact that Remus was treating him a bit like a petulant, naïve child.

> **_Dumbledore,_ ** ****
> 
> **_After Harry’s last letter to me, I have come to believe that it would be best if I were able to be closer to him, and therefore closer to Hogwarts. It is rather hard to fulfill my role as his godfather from so far away, and I would really like to leave as soon as possible, if you agree that it is wise. I would stay where I did last time, I think— the forest provides a decent amount of shelter._ ** ****
> 
> **_Let me know what you think._ ** ****
> 
> **_Best,  
> _ ** **_Sirius_ **

“Do you approve?” Sirius asked dryly. Remus’ ears turned a bit pink, but he nodded. “Great,” Sirius continued. “Then can you take it to old Bernadette’s house?”

“Beatrice.”

“Right,” Sirius sighed. Remus smiled hesitantly, and then made a bizarre, sudden movement, like he was going to touch Sirius’ shoulder, but seemed to change his mind halfway through the motion. Instead, he nodded, and then turned, leaving the cottage, disappearing just outside the door with a loud _Crack_.

Sirius threw himself on the couch, trying with all his might to maintain some semblance of patience. He didn’t want to wait two weeks for Dumbledore’s highly controversial response.

But, as it turned out, he didn’t have to.

One never really expects a phoenix to burn into existence in the middle of one’s living room, but five days after Sirius’ letter was sent, that’s exactly what happened. Remus cried out in surprise as Fawkes materialized, and Sirius would have laughed if he hadn’t been so intent on reading the contents of the envelope clamped in his large, shiny beak.

“Thank you,” he hastened to the bird, and Fawkes seemed to X-ray him with sharp beady eyes before inclining his head and vanishing into the flames once more. Sirius ripped open the envelope to find a small piece of parchment covered in Dumbledore’s thin, slanted handwriting.

> **_Dear Sirius,_ **
> 
> **_First and foremost, I hope this letter finds both you and Remus well!_ ** ****

—How on _earth_ did he know Sirius was staying with Remus— Merlin, how did Dumbledore _know these things_ —

> **_It has been quite snowy here, but I am sure Harry is more focused on preparing for the Second Task than he is enjoying snow angels and snowball fights— a fact that, of course, should not be so, for he did not ask for it._ ** ****
> 
> **_Therefore, given the circumstances, I am inclined to agree with your sentiments. Harry has known you not yet a year but already cares for you deeply, and might I add, looks up to you quite intensely. I think your presence here would be greatly beneficial to the both of you._ ** ****
> 
> **_Rather than hiding out in the forest, I have another spot in mind— while it is a bit farther from the castle, it is quite secluded and will provide a safe place for you and Buckbeak to stay as long as you’d like. If you fly to the outskirts of Hogsmeade (I recommend traveling at night), and stop on the mountain peak closest to the village, you’ll find a small cave hidden in the rocks about three-quarters up the way. It is impossible to find unless you are looking for it, but close enough to the shops for Harry to get away and visit you during Hogsmeade trips, if you’d like._ **
> 
> **_Do write me when you arrive, or if there is anything else you may need. Safe travels!_ ** ********
> 
> **_Most sincerely,  
> _ ** **_Albus Dumbledore_ **

Sirius didn’t understand how to properly convey his pride, relief, and appreciation, so his only hope was that he didn’t look too smug when he turned to Remus, who was watching him anxiously.

“Dumbledore told me to go,” Sirius said. Remus’ face, which had been screwed up in anticipation, dropped.

“What?” He asked incredulously. “Are you— did he really?”

“He did,” Sirius said cheerfully. “He fully supports the idea, even gave me a place to hide. See, I told you it was—”

“—Can I read it?” Remus interrupted impatiently. Sirius felt a deep twinge of annoyance.

“What, don’t believe me?” He snipped. “Fine, here”— he thrust the letter in Remus’ hands. “Check for forgery.”

Remus’ eyes trained so hard on the parchment in his hands Sirius quite thought they might fall out of their sockets. He read Dumbledore’s words, mouthing them silently, his face growing pinker by the second. Sirius, on the other hand, felt quite vindicated. Any moment now, Remus was going to look up, and apologize for doubting Sirius’ judgment— perhaps offer to come with him—

“I still don’t think you should go.”

Sirius stared, completely caught off guard.

“What?” He asked, incredulous. “I’m sorry, have you become spontaneously illiterate? Did you not comprehend what—”

“I am well aware of what the letter says!” Remus said, his voice slightly higher and louder than normal. “I just don’t think— I mean, I didn’t expect—”

“What, for Dumbledore to side with me over you?” Sirius demanded, his own voice rising impatiently. “I asked him because _you_ told me to, Remus, and now he agrees with me, and what, now you’re backtracking because you lost?”

“This isn’t a game!” Remus cried. “I just— I thought—” His face was almost red now. “Sirius, is it really worth risking— being so close to that many Aurors and Tournament security, for what, a couple of face-to-face meetings with Harry that you could do from a fireplace?”

Sirius felt as though Remus had punched him. His entire body felt hot, he was shaking— this wasn’t how he expected this to go at all— Remus didn’t know, Remus didn’t get it— Remus hadn’t been kept away from Harry like he had—

“Any time spent in person with Harry is worth risking!” Sirius snarled, feeling a lump rising in his throat. “And in case you’ve forgotten, you were _also_ hesitant about me breaking into those wizards’ house and using the Floo Network to communicate with him, but what, _now_ that’s fine!?”

“I just— well, I helped you with that, didn’t I, because the risks were significantly less than—”

“—Remus!” Sirius cut him off, on a roll now. “ _You_ had a _whole year_ to be with him, in a safe, warm castle, and you got to mentor him and— and watch him grow up— and that’s what _I’m_ supposed to do!” At these last words, he was horrified to hear his voice crack, but he plowed on. “I barely know him, but I want to, and I reckon he wants to know me too, and a little more than just a head in a fireplace!” His stomach was roiling. “And _Dumbledore_ agrees with me” he added accusingly. “Don’t you _trust_ Dumbledore!?”

Remus’ cheeks were glowing scarlet.

“Of _course_ I trust Dumbledore!” He cried, flustered. “I just— I don’t— I’m not exactly thrilled about him telling you to live in a cave!”

At this, Sirius actually laughed.

“Where do you think I was staying before I came here, Remus!?” He exclaimed. “It was cave after cave—”

“Precisely!” Remus cried. “But now— I mean, I know— I know it’s not much, but I do have a— a home here, and you deserve to be— somewhat comfortable—”

“‘ _Somewhat comfortable_!?’” Sirius repeated derisively. “I spent twelve years in Azkaban, a cave is _more_ than comfortable compared to that!”

“Well if you go there, you may very well end up in Azkaban again!” Remus said desperately.

“If I have the chance to be close to Harry, I’m going to take it,” Sirius said, and his voice was shaking. “Which is more than I can say for you.”

The blood that had pooled in Remus’ face suddenly drained away.

“What is that supposed to mean?” He said, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Well, did you ever try and visit him, all those years?” Sirius accused, for this was something that had been boiling inside him for a while, and maybe he hadn’t even realized it until this moment: the words were pouring out of him in one poisonous waterfall. “ _You_ had your freedom Remus! You could have sought him out, but you didn’t, did you!?”

Remus looked as if Sirius had just slapped him.

“I—I couldn’t,” he stammered, eyes huge, shining with what— guilt? “He was brought straight to Lily’s sister and— and Dumbledore said he was safe there and he— he forbade anyone from the wizarding community to contact him there— and I— Sirius I wasn’t exactly in the position to be a friend to him,” Remus explained desperately. “I couldn’t— I couldn’t afford Wolfsbane Potion, and it’s not like I would’ve been— he didn’t need— he had a family—”

“His ‘family’ is rubbish,” Sirius spat. “I can tell, he hates them: you’d know that if you’d ever bothered to reach out.”

“I—” Remus’ voice sounded strangled. “I did— I— that’s part of the reason that I took the job at Hogwarts— I knew it wouldn’t last, I knew it, but I wanted— I wanted to get to know him—”

“Well, I broke out of Azkaban for him and I refuse to be locked away from him any longer,” Sirius said. “I’m going to Hogsmeade.” He strode to the couch, refusing to look at Remus’ face, because he didn’t want to see the pain there, not for a moment longer. He pulled Remus’ robes over his head, not caring, and dropped them onto the couch, before grabbing his tattered gray prison robes from where he had been storing them, out of sight. He pulled them roughly over his head, blood pounding in his ears.

“Why did you keep your Azkaban robes?” Remus’ voice asked, wavering. Sirius turned decisively and addressed not him, but the basket full of newspapers and old hate mail on the countertop.

“I don’t know, Moony,” he said, his voice shaking. “Probably for the same reason you kept those letters.”

And without another word, he strode from the cottage, and into the night.


	8. Memories: Dreams and Nightmares

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remus does not own a pensieve, but his sleeping mind is more than capable of re-experiencing old memories.

_February, 1995_   
_Yorkshire, England_

Two days after Sirius left, Remus got a letter in the Muggle post: a job offer from the bakery.

He accepted. He needed money, and he needed an excuse to stay out of his house, which now felt emptier than it had ever felt before.

He started on the eighth of February, one week before the fifteenth— the full moon. He asked to have it off, as well as the day before and after.

“I guess so,” the owner said laughing nervously. “Just hired and already trying to get out of work, huh?”

Remus forced a laugh of his own. They’d probably sack him by April.

Despite that, he worked as hard as he could, staying late and coming in early, so when he Apparated home in the early hours of the fourteenth, he wasn’t aware of walking from his door to his bed until he was already under the covers.

But his bed did not bring the relief he’d expected. His bones still ached for tomorrow night’s moon, his pulse still hammered in his temple as if something was trapped inside, fighting to break free. But there was a new feeling, too— an emptiness in his chest, almost lost amongst the other horrible sensations, but persisting regardless: it was a longing, too, but not for the moon.

He flipped over, burying his face in the fabric of his pillow, clenching his eyes so tightly that bright lights seemed to erupt from the darkness. How could he be so tired but so awake, how could his mind move so quickly but his body move so slowly?

He’d thought about going after Sirius every day since he’d left. But he’d only _thought_ about it, nothing more, because that’s how it had always been: Sirius did without thinking, and Remus thought without doing. It was almost poetic, he thought bitterly. And maybe it used to be, when they were younger, when they were kids. Maybe the differences used to make them fit. Now, they only seemed to drive them apart.

The blackness of his eyelids began to lighten to a red: the sun was rising, then. He should be waking up, starting his day— he should be by the window, awaiting the _Daily Prophet_ , to frantically check, again, to make sure Sirius hadn’t been found, captured, taken back to Azkaban.

But he was just so heavy, and his muscles would not move. He needed to rest, he needed to, just for an hour, or maybe forever, either would do, anything to make his mind stop screaming…

He just needed to rest…

~

_“‘Moony!?'” Remus asked, disbelievingly. “Really, Sirius?”_

_The four of them were surrounding the Gryffindor fire, Remus curled up in a tiny ball, against the armrest, his Transfiguration essay balanced on his knees. Sirius, on the other hand, was taking up as much space as his tiny thirteen-year-old body could allow, draped chaotically over the couch._

_“You like it?” Sirius asked happily, absentmindedly sending tiny sparks out of his wand. “I thought it was rather clever.”_

_“Do you know what clever means?” Remus asked, frowning. James snorted with laughter, grinning at his own essay, but still managed to easily dodge the pillow Sirius hurtled at him. Peter laughed._

_“Whoa!” James exclaimed, dramatically bringing his hand to his chest. “I’m not the one calling you thick, throw a pillow at Remus!”_

_“I didn’t call him_ thick _,” Remus said quickly, adding another sentence to his essay, trying to act nonchalant. “I just think it’s very…” he struggled to find the word. “…Obvious.”_

_“Well, a lot of nicknames aren’t obvious,” Peter said thoughtfully. “So maybe having an obvious nickname will make it seem less obvious, then.” Sirius stared at him._

_“Peter, I have no clue what you just said, but I’m gonna take it as a show of support.” Peter smiled, so apparently that was exactly what it was supposed to be._

_“He does actually have a point,” James said, smirking. “There’s a sixth year on the Ravenclaw Quidditch team that everyone calls Batboy. You’d think it’d be because he’s a Beater, but it’s actually because he managed to stick an entire bat up—”_

_“Okay!” Squeaked Remus, cutting him off, as Sirius and Peter roared with laughter._

_This somehow led into a discussion about Quidditch, which Remus tuned out, forcefully re-focusing on his essay so much so he nearly jumped a foot in the air when a small, slightly sweaty hand lightly tapped his own._

_“Hey,” Sirius whispered, as Peter and James continued to talk. “If you really don’t like it— the nickname, I mean—”_

_“No, no,” Remus said back. “I do like it.” And, he suddenly realized, this was true. He’d never thought he’d have a friend to give him a nickname at all— it felt like he was reaching a weird milestone from someone else’s life, only it was_ his _life— his friends didn’t hate him because of his lycanthropy, no, they were talking about it casually, almost like… almost like it was normal, like he was normal, or something. Which he wasn’t, but—_

_“Okay,” Sirius grinned, and then did something he had never done before, and squeezed Remus’ hand. “Moony it is.”_

_And it was nice, Remus thought, to for the first time, associate the moon with something other than his painful, lonely transformations. He wasn’t keeping the secret anymore— now he had friends to keep it with._

_~_

_“Your parents don’t have jobs?” Peter asked Sirius, gaping. Sirius shifted uncomfortably, glaring at the dormitory floor._

_“Well, they don’t need them, do they?” He scowled. “We’ve got all that old money, I’ve never seen my mum work a day in her life, it’d probably kill her. Not that I’d mind.” James laughed, and Sirius frowned at him. “Shut up Potter, your parents don’t work either!”_

_“My parents are old!” James said defensively._

_“Oh, have they just retired, then?” Sirius asked. James scowled._

_“What’s the point of going to school if you aren’t gonna get a job?” Peter asked a bit naively. Both Sirius and James shot him incredulous looks._

_“They still needed to know how to do magic, you dunce,” James said. “Besides, they raised me, and I’m_ definitely _working after we graduate.”_

_“Me too,” Sirius said, grinning. “We do job counseling in fifth, that’s what McKinnon told me— I can’t wait to ask McGonagall which career she thinks will offend my family the most… perhaps I could bartend at the Hog’s Head…”_

_“Yeah, you could take over for that bloke who looks like Dumbledore,” Peter said, and James snorted._

_“You’re right, and that means neither of them will ever die, much less resign,” Sirius sighed. “Okay, new plan, I’ll run for Muggle Prime Minister…”_

_“We’re a little young to be thinking about all that, don’t you think?” Remus muttered, turning his quill over in his hands as James and Peter laughed. “O.W.L.s are two years away, and N.E.W.T.s aren’t until seventh.”_

_“Oh please,” Sirius laughed. “Like you haven’t already got the next twenty-five years already planned out. What do you want to be Moony— a dragon keeper, perhaps?”_

_“I think my prospects are a bit smaller than that,” Remus said, feeling his cheeks glow. “People don’t really like to hire werewolves.”_

_James and Peter stopped laughing. Sirius frowned._

_“Yeah, but everyone’ll wanna hire you,” Sirius said. “You’re brilliant.”_

_“That’s kind of you to say,” Remus responded awkwardly. “But it’s not really— er— about that. My dad said—”_

_“Well your dad’s wrong,” Sirius said bluntly. “Besides, like you said, we’re young— things can change.”_

_“Maybe,” Remus shrugged, deciding not to voice his concern that things_ were _changing, but not in the way Sirius was talking about._

_“And if they don’t, we’ll make them change,” Sirius said fiercely._

_“Hear, hear!” James cried._

_“Yeah, maybe,” Remus said again, and he couldn’t help but smile as Sirius patted him on the back, causing unexplainable butterflies to erupt in his stomach._

_~_

_“This is mental,” Remus said, shaking his head, peering into the edge of the dark lake. “There are grindylows in there.”_

_“And the giant squid, don’t forget,” James reminded them, pulling his robes over his head with reckless abandon._

_“You reckon it’ll let us ride it?” Sirius said, throwing his robes on top of the heap of James’. Peter let out a nervous laugh: he too was in his underwear now, cautiously dipping his toe into the lake water._

_“Only one way to find out,” James exclaimed, grinning evilly, and without warning, he pushed both Sirius and Peter into the water, before jumping in himself, with a loud whooping cry. Remus shut his eyes as the resulting splashes sprayed down his front. Three heads re-emerged, James and Sirius laughing, Peter sputtering._

_“It’s cold!” Peter gasped._

_“Let’s try and keep it that way,” Sirius said seriously. “I don’t want to be swimming near you and suddenly feel a warm spot again…”_

_“I did not pee in the Prefects’ bathtub!” Peter squealed, as James threw his head back and laughed harder._

_“I still can’t believe you lot snuck in there,” Remus sighed, shaking his own head, sitting down on the edge and allowing the toe of one shoe to skim the water. “You’re so lucky I’m the one who caught you, instead of Mulciber— or Lily, mind you—”_

_“Actually, I think James was rather hoping Evans would discover him— sopping wet, lounging against the taps— soap and lavender running sensually down his back— completely starkers— with two other blokes, of course—” Sirius was forced to stop talking because James had tackled him and pulled his head underwater. Remus rolled his eyes, and let his other leg dangle._

_“Moony,” laughed Sirius, when James finally released him to start doing backflips for Peter. “Come on in, please?” It came out surprisingly soft— he had swum up to the edge, and was looking up at Remus with innocent, dark gray eyes. Remus’ stomach seemed to swoop. He looked around: it was pretty early in the morning, no one would be up for an hour at least…_

_“I… yeah, okay,” he sighed, as Sirius grinned in triumph. “But if I get pulled down by a grindylow, I’m taking you with me.”_

_“Maybe you should hold my hand then, just to be prepared,” Sirius said, and his tone was so frustratingly joking but also not joking at the same time that Remus didn’t answer,instead focusing on self-consciously taking off his robes, and sliding off the banks into the lake._

_“Alright Moony!” James cheered, sending a splash of water his way. “Rebellion!” And he backflipped again before Remus could splash him back._

_They swam around for a while, and Remus had to admit— the water was cold, but it felt amazing. After several swim races (James won every single time), and several more splashing fights, Remus ended up floating peacefully in the water, Sirius by his side, both of them lazily watching James teach Peter how to do an underwater handstand._

_“Hey,” Sirius said suddenly, turning towards him. “Is that new?” Remus followed his gaze to his own shoulder, where a fresh scar spiraled from his collarbone to his upper arm._

_“Yeah,” he said, hoping he sounded nonchalant. “Last moon was a bit rough.” Sirius swam closer to him, still staring._

_“Can I…?” He asked. He was holding out a dripping hand, hovering over his shoulder. Remus stared at him, his throat suddenly constricted._

_“Erm, sure,” he said, swallowing, hoping to Merlin that his face wasn’t as red as it suddenly felt. Sirius placed a tender finger on the edge of his collarbone, and, in a completely unpredictable move, began to trace the outline of the scar, softly, gently, the pad of his finger ghosting the surface of Remus’ cold, wet skin._

_“Did it hurt?” Sirius whispered._

_“Not too bad,” Remus lied mechanically, feeling dizzy, all of the hairs on his body standing up. Sirius was halfway down the pale, raised line._

_“Soon,” Sirius said, still whispering. “The potion’ll be ready, and we can all be with you.”_

_“Right,” Remus said breathlessly, and Sirius had reached the end of the scar now, and Remus didn’t want him to take his hand away, because he was so very close to him, and he had drops of water clinging to his eyelashes and dripping down his cheeks and landing on his chest… and was it Remus’ imagination, or had the tide brought them even closer? His heart was hammering in his chest, Sirius was still at the end of his scar, had still not pulled his hand away—_

_“OI!” James exclaimed from meters away. “Sirius, c’mere and help me with Peter’s legs, he keeps kicking me!”_

_Sirius dropped his hand. Remus felt its loss immediately._

_“A hero never ignores a cry for aid,” Sirius answered after a moment, his normal cocky bravado returned, but as he swam towards James, he glanced back at Remus, who could’ve sworn he saw longing in his eyes._

_~_

_“Moony, please talk to me,” Sirius begged. “I didn’t mean to—”_

_“I could have killed him,” Remus said, voice shaking. “If it weren’t for James, I could have killed him.”_

_“I wasn’t thinking like that, it was just a prank— I didn’t think he’d get past the—”_

_“He could’ve died!”_

_“And he would’ve deserved it! He’s evil, Moony! He’s evil! He’s a horrible person who doesn’t give a rat’s ass about you, he thinks all Muggle-borns are scum, he skulks around performing dark magic— do you really care about his life that much?”_

_“Well maybe his life, his human life, doesn’t matter to you, but I at least— I at least thought you cared about me, about my life— I would’ve been expelled, thrown into Azkaban— and you would’ve been too—”_

_“I know, I get it now, I get it, I messed up, but it’s over, nothing happened!”_

_“Nothing happened? Snape knows! He knows, he could tell anyone, at any time!”_

_“He won’t. Dumbledore made him swear—”_

_“And what are the consequences if he breaks his promise? He won’t be expelled, he won’t have his life ruined, he won’t have the entire world knowing his most shameful secret, but me— Sirius, I trusted you with this, how could you— how could you— I thought maybe we— I thought we had— I thought we were—”_

_“Moony, we— we are—”_

_“No, no, we’re not, because if you— if you really cared about me, you’d have never done this!”_

_“Moony, please, please, it was just a stupid mistake! What can I do, what do you want me to do?”_

_“I want you to leave me alone.”_

_“Moony—”_

_“LEAVE ME ALONE, SIRIUS, LEAVE ME ALONE!”_

_~_

_Kissing Sirius made Remus feel things he hadn’t realized he was capable of feeling. It made his whole body burn stronger than if he’d had a gulp of firewhiskey, made his stomach and heart leap with intense thrills as Sirius hands gripped his hair and cupped his cheeks. He remembered being a first year and walking in on Frank and Alice Longbottom snogging in a broom cupboard— he remembered feeling horrifyingly awkward for nearly a month after that, unable to comprehend the appeal of sucking on someone else’s lips in such an uncomfortably confined space._

_But he was in his sixth year, and he understood it now. He… he_ really _understood it now._

_James and Peter found out soon enough, it was impossible to hide, and they had apparently both suspected Remus’ and Sirius’ feelings even before either of them had been able to put words to it._

_“How’ll we break it to the ladies?” James had sighed in mock despair. “That the second-most attractive, first-most mysterious bloke in our year is off the market…”_

_“I think the ‘ladies’ will be fine without me,” Sirius said sarcastically._

_“Oh, yikes mate, I was talking about Moony— and they say I’m the conceited one—”_

_Remus and Peter laughed as Sirius jumped him._

_~_

_“Well, now that you have officially graduated,” Dumbledore said, twinkling down at them, “I didn’t think it would be long until you wound up in my office.”_

_“We want to join,” James said breathlessly._

_“All of you?” Dumbledore asked, looking down the line of students— nearly their whole Gryffindor year was standing before him, as well as one Ravenclaw and two Hufflepuffs._

_“Yes,” Lily said, her chin high, her eyes on fire. “All of us.”_

_“The Order would be incredibly lucky to have such bright, talented individuals,” Dumbledore said seriously. “But you must understand, the risks involved cannot be underestimated. The group calling themselves Death Eaters use tactics that are beyond cruel: they do not, and will not, hesitate to torture and murder innocent people.”_

_“And we will not hesitate to protect innocent people,” James said loudly. Dumbledore looked at him, eyes twinkling for a moment._

_“That, I do not doubt in the slightest,” Dumbledore said._

_“Professor,” Sirius piped up. “You promised when we were of age, when we graduated, you would—”_

_“I am well aware of my promise, Mr. Black,” Dumbledore said. “This is not a rejection: I am not trying to scare you off. I am telling you plainly the cost of war, and giving you the opportunity to change your mind, if you’d like.”_

_“We aren’t changing our minds,” Remus heard himself saying, though his mouth felt like it was full of sand. Dumbledore stared directly at him._

_“That I can see,” he said softly. He looked back at the full group, the sea of determined faces in front of him. “The next meeting is on Thursday,” he said. “I will contact you with the location and time by Wednesday evening. If any of you need anything before then, do not hesitate to contact_ me _.”_

_“Thank you, sir,” James said eagerly._

_“Keep close with each other,” Dumbledore said, smiling at him. “In times of great pain and devastation, one must remember, we are fighting for love.”_

_Remus felt Sirius grasp his hand. He squeezed back as hard as he possibly could, and felt just a little braver._

_~_

_“I can’t believe you walked in on James and Lily,” Sirius cackled._

_“He told you?” Remus groaned sleepily, rolling over on Sirius’ bed and stuffing his face into the pillow. “Brilliant.”_

_“How was it, if you mind me asking?”_

_“It was traumatizing, Sirius… the noises… the visuals… burned into my brain forever…”_

_“Well, to be fair, James walked in on us that one time in seventh year,” Sirius said, grinning wickedly._

_“Yes, but we weren’t doing_ that _at seventeen!” Remus mumbled into the pillow, cheeks aflame. “And we weren’t— bloody contortionists—”_

_Sirius laughed._

_“That’s what James gets, opening The Potter Mansion to house you and Lily all at once— honestly you’re lucky all three of you haven’t walked in on his parents yet. I almost did once, when I was staying there— mind you, they may be old, but I feel like the older you get the more you gotta spice things up—”_

_“Goodnight Sirius,” he groaned into the mattress. Sirius laughed, but his laughter faded rather quickly. Remus listened to him breathe for a few minutes, before he spoke again, this time, quite softly._

_“Are you sure you don’t want to just move in with me?” Sirius whispered, stroking Remus’ cheek, illuminated by moonlight. “Officially? I know you said the city isn’t the best place for you but—I mean, you’re already basically here all the time. And, y’know… you wouldn’t need to pay rent.”_

_Remus pretended to be asleep._

_~_

_“YOU’RE_ JOKING _!” Sirius roared, looking back and forth between James and Lily. “YOU’RE JOKING!”_

_“That was James’ reaction too, funny enough,” Lily said mildly, her mouth twitching. “And mine, if I’m being honest.”_

_“A BABY!? A HUMAN CHILD!?”_

_“Well, unless it comes out a deer,” James said, grinning._

_“THAT’S DISGUSTING, PRONGS!” Sirius yelled gleefully, and in less than a second, he and James were on the ground, a tangle of limbs and shouting._

_“YOU’RE GONNA BE A FATHER?????”_

_“I’M GONNA BE A FATHER!”_

_“YOU PRAT, YOU ABSOLUTE PRAT, A FATHER!?”_

_“A FATHER!!!!”_

_“Congratulations,” Remus said to Lily, smiling, trying to sound calm, but inside he was reeling with shock. She grinned back at him._

_“Thank you,” she said. “Are you or Peter going to tackle me to the ground, next?”_

_“If you weren’t with child, I think we would,” Peter said seriously, and Lily laughed. Sirius resurfaced from his and James’ messy embrace, and scooped Lily up, twirling her around, before setting her back down on the grass and kissing Remus full on the mouth._

_“What was that for?” Remus exclaimed, bewildered._

_“Everyone’s getting love today!” Sirius cried. “Don’t think I’m not doing Peter next!”_

_“Get your lips away from me!” Peter squealed, and took off on a run, as Sirius chased him, and James cackled, flushed with happiness, still on the ground. Lily helped him up, rolling her humor-filled eyes, and Remus ached for the both of them, ached for their happiness and the happiness of their unborn child, and hoped, with all his heart, that they knew what they were getting themselves into._

_That night, Sirius brought Remus to bed, and made love to him like he never had before._

_~_

_The sounds of baby Harry’s coos and James and Lily’s tearful laughter were put to rest as the front door closed behind him, and he and Sirius walked down the front lawn towards the street. Sirius was talking a mile a minute, but Remus couldn’t even absorb what he was saying— he was dizzy from happiness, but also so utterly and completely exhausted._

_“…Can you believe it Moony, I didn’t realize babies were that small, guess he didn’t inherit James’ massive head— and I swear he smiled at me, Lily said babies don’t smile ‘till they’re twelve weeks or something, but what if that’s just Muggles…”_

_The last full moon had been four days ago, which was usually enough time for Remus to recuperate, but this one had hit him particularly hard— James of course hadn’t been able to come as Prongs, because it had been so close to Lily’s due date, and Sirius hadn’t been able to come as Padfoot, because Lily had made him stay there for a bit to distract James, whose anxiety was driving her up the wall._

_“…And you know, everyone thought they were mental, but now, seeing them, I dunno mate, I’ve never seen James look like that— imagine being that happy, in the middle of a bloody war…”_

_So Remus had been trapped alone, and apparently in that loneliness, he had taken it out on himself. He’d made a couple of new scars, but he hid them as best he could, not wanting to dampen the happy occasion, not even a little. And it was a happy occasion, it was— Remus had cried, although didn’t think anyone had noticed, because his quiet happy tears were nothing compared to the full-on bawling of James and Sirius, and the sound of Lily telling them to shut up, because she was the one who had just gone through labor and the only cries she wanted to hear were the ones coming from the tiny, black-haired child cradled in her arms—_

_“…So Moony, what if we just… I mean, should we just go for it?”_

_Remus nearly smashed straight into Sirius, who had stopped short, and was looking at him with unbridled elation on his face._

_“What?” Remus asked. “Sorry, go for what?”_

_“Just— get married!” Sirius exploded. “Have a kid! Get a little house across the street— or maybe down the road— get all domestic—”_

_“Sirius,” Remus interrupted hastily, fear rising in his stomach like bile. “Don’t— we’ve talked about this—”_

_“Yes, I know!” Sirius said impatiently. “I know, ‘there’s a war and we have to focus on that, there’s too much going on, now’s not the time to be discussing this’—but Moony, isn’t this exactly the time!? When there’s all this rubbish going on? I mean, I love dueling Death Eaters, don’t get me wrong, but—”_

_“No, Sirius, I don’t—”_

_“—but Lily told me something a couple of days ago, that I just can’t stop thinking about,” Sirius plowed on, his voice high, his words fast, his whole body crackling with excitement. “It was really eloquent, Moony, super deep, maybe becoming a parent does that to you— or maybe just becoming a mum, because Merlin knows Prongs hasn’t said a coherent thing all week—”_

_“—Sirius—”_

_“—and she said ‘we’re fighting this war_ so _we can_ have _a better future, so how could I let the war prevent an opportunity for the future to happen?’— or it was something like that, I dunno, it sounded better when she said it, I reckon I mixed up the words, but, y’know, essentially it was like— like if we’re fighting for our lives, maybe we should try and actually_ live them _, y’know?” Sirius’ chest was heaving as if he had just run a great distance, his face flushed, his eyes sparkling, and Remus half expected him to drop down on one knee, right there in the street, in the dark, in front of the Potters’ house._

_“Sirius,” he said, his voice shaking, desperately wanting to end this conversation, or at the very least have it far, far away from here. “I can’t, we can’t, I’ve told you— it would be— it would be selfish, and irresponsible—”_

_“Excuse me?” Sirius exclaimed, a hint of bewildered anger in his voice. “Are you calling James and Lily ‘selfish and irresponsible’?”_

_“No!” Remus cried hastily. “No, of course I’m not, but it’s different for them— it’s different— I mean, they didn’t exactly plan for this baby, did they— it just happened—”_

_“His name is Harry,” snarled Sirius._

_“Yes, yes,” Remus said desperately, his heart swelling and breaking in tandem as the image of the newest Potter filled his head. “And he’s wonderful, and it’s all wonderful, but it wouldn’t be for us— I mean— it’s not like we’re going to—” he felt his cheeks start to glow— “have the same sort of… happy accident—”_

_“Yeah, alright,” Sirius said furiously. “But getting married wasn’t an accident, they chose that, even during a war, and their wedding— Moony I know you enjoyed it, don’t pretend—”_

_“Of course I enjoyed it!” Remus cried. “I just— the war, and— I don’t— It’s—”_

_“Oh come off it, this isn’t about the war,” Sirius growled. “We both know what this is really about.”_

_Remus felt his insides erupt with fury, with defensiveness, with utter disbelief._

_“Of course we know what it’s about!” He nearly yelled. “But I can’t say it’s because I’m a werewolf, can I, because you’ll just discredit that immediately, like you always do—”_

_“I’m not discrediting anything!” Sirius retorted. “I’m just pointing out that you keep using it as— as an excuse—”_

_“An EXCUSE!?” Remus’ throat cracked as his voice seemed to leap an extra octave. “This is_ who I AM, _Sirius!”_

_“This is not who you are, it’s something you have!” Sirius said angrily. Remus laughed, a bitter laugh of disbelief, and it almost felt deranged._

_“That’s not how society sees it, and you know it,” he said._

_“‘Society!?'” Sirius repeated incredulously. “Why do we care about what ‘society’ thinks?”_

_“Well,_ you _don’t have to care, do you!” Remus cried. “You could walk out on your rich family, because your uncle left you heaps of gold! You can get into trouble, or— or make mistakes, but it doesn’t matter, because you’re a pureblood wizard, and a full human—people respect you, no matter what! Meanwhile, me— if people knew what I was, they’d hate me, and that includes people on this side of the war, Sirius, our side! This world will always welcome you, and they will always reject me!”_

_“I wish that you would make this about just us, just you and me, and not about the world,” Sirius said, upset. And something in Remus snapped._

_“Grow up, Sirius!” He exclaimed. “We_ live _in the world! We can’t stay snuggled behind the curtains of my old Hogwarts four poster forever!”_

 _“I’m_ trying _to grow up!” Sirius said. “I’m_ trying _to move on and— y’know— have us become a family!”_

_“You only want it because James has it, and you don’t want to feel left out.”_

_The words had come out of Remus’ mouth calmly, straightforward, direct, as if planned— he hadn’t realized that it would be so easy to say something so truthful and yet so seemingly cruel, something he had often thought but never said, not until now._

_“What?” Sirius whispered, after an explosive pause, color rising in his cheeks. “You don’t— what—”_

_“You are scared of losing James,” Remus said, and his whole body was numb, but the words were still leaving his mouth steadily and succinctly. “Because he has a wife, and now he has a son, and they are his first priority, so you want those things too, so you’ll be together again, in the same place, on the same level.”_

_“I— you— how dare—” Sirius sputtered, his face scarlet with fury. “You don’t know anything about me and James!”_

_“I know that I can never have what you both have,” Remus sighed wearily. “You both have money and job prospects and actual futures— the sort of futures Lily was talking about. But I am a social cast off,” and his voice was starting to tremble now, “And if you stay with me, I will drag you down.” Sirius looked at him for a second, and then let out a low, humorless laugh._

_“D’you know what you sound like right now?” He asked bitterly. “A Death Eater. 'Oh, you’re not a perfect pureblood wizard, so you can never belong’!?”_

_“That’s not— that’s not what I— I’m not saying it_ should _be like this!” Remus cried, incredulous. “I am simply stating that right now, it_ is _!”_

_“You’re a coward.”_

_Remus stared at him. He stared back._

_“What?” Remus asked, his voice shaking violently now._

_“You are afraid to be happy so you push everything and everyone good away, rather than fight to try to make it work,” Sirius said. Remus’ whole body was trembling._

_“Well,” Remus said, his voice tight and metallic, “You are deluded by optimism, and your inability to see things from my perspective makes this relationship almost impossible sometimes.”_

_Sirius’ face, screwed up in anger, suddenly dropped._

_“Impossible?” He repeated. And Remus couldn’t believe that this was happening now, that reality was choosing this moment to crash down on them both, that the awful truth was coming now, right now, so soon, so much sooner than Remus had thought it would, but he had to face it, he had to say it out loud, because if he didn’t, he could just keep pretending, keep deluding himself that he could ever have the life he dreamed of._

_“Sirius,” Remus said, his voice shaking with despair, his chest aching with pain. “I cannot have a life with you. I cannot have a life with anyone. It is too dangerous. I cannot risk it.”_

_A silence. A long, long silence._

_And then, finally, Sirius spoke. His voice was low and rough, like he had just swallowed gravel._

_“Then why,” he said. “Are we together?”_

_“I’m sorry?” Remus said, and he was starting to crack, he could feel it, the burning in his throat, in his eyes._

_“Why the fuck are we even together then, Moony?” Sirius demanded, and why was there grief in his eyes, why was there grief in his whole face—_

_“I don’t— I mean— we—” and Remus couldn’t hold it back, the fact that the tears had started to come, and he was stammering, desperate not to break down, “Because— we were young— and stupid—”_

_“Stupid!?”_

_“I only mean— I wasn’t thinking about the future then, because we were kids, we were just kids, and I— I wanted you,” and now he was really crying, tears were pouring thick and fast down his face, and he hated them, he hated the tears, he hated himself, he hated how much he loved the man standing before him. “I wanted to be with you so much it nearly killed me—”_

_“And what?” Sirius asked, his voice cracking, “You don’t want me anymore?” Remus swallowed a sob._

_“That’s not the deciding factor anymore,” Remus said desperately. “We are adults. We have to act pragmatically. We have to be realistic.”_

_“Forgive me for thinking that love is enough,” Sirius said, in a voice that would have been cold had it not been mangled by shock and grief._

_“It’s not,” Remus said._

_And it was only after Sirius Apparated away that Remus allowed himself to fall to the ground and weep._

_~_

_“They can’t be dead.”_

_“I know that in times of great, horrific shock—”_

_“I talked to them last week.”_

_“I’m sorry, Remus. Trust me when I say, I— I truly understand what you are feeling.”_

_“They aren’t dead.”_

_~_

_“Peter— I—”_

_“Yes, and twelve Muggles.”_

_“I— he— and what happened to—”_

_“Sirius was apprehended by Aurors on the scene.”_

_._

_._

_._

_“I— I suspected— I thought maybe— but I didn’t want to— I didn’t let myself— how could I have missed— how could I have ignored—”_

_“You cannot blame yourself, no matter how much you might want to.”_

_“You don’t understand—”_

_“I do.”_

_“How could you— you don’t know— you can’t—”_

_“I do.”_

_._

_._

_._

_“I loved him.”_

_“I know.”_

_~_

Remus woke up, Dumbledore’s grief-filled eyes burned into his mind. He glanced at the window: the sun was low in the sky: he had slept nearly all day. Pulling himself out of bed, he shuffled towards the kitchen, glancing at the morning’s newspaper that the owl must have left. He looked through the pages. Sirius had not been captured.

There were twenty-four hours until the full moon, and thirty-six hours until he would wake up alone, in the bunker, with blood on his wrists and tears on his face.


	9. The Duty of a Godfather

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sirius, crouched in a cave and *ever* the hypocrite, cannot understand why Harry can't just keep his head down and stay out of trouble.

_March, April, May 1995  
_ _Hogsmeade, Scotland_

The rats for dinner, the hard, rocky ground, the almost complete isolation— it was worth it, it was all worth it, when Sirius saw Harry’s face. And then, it was all worth it all over again, when he smelled the chicken he and his friends were carrying. He did his best to contain himself as he led Harry, Ron, and Hermione up the winding uphill pathway to the cave, but couldn’t resist ripping the drumsticks apart with his teeth the moment they entered the hidden cavern. That, and smiling at his godson, were the only things he seemed capable of doing at the moment.

“What are you doing here, Sirius?” Harry asked him.

Sirius took him in. Yes, he had grown, but he was still rather peaky— not nearly as tall as Ron, and only a bit taller than Hermione. His lightning scar was distractingly visible underneath his jet black hair, which was sticking every which way in a manner that would’ve made James proud. His _face_ , however, was sporting an anxious look that could’ve rivaled Remus.

“Fulfilling my duty as godfather,” Sirius replied, grinning.

And they talked. _Finally_ , face-to-face, they talked. They talked about Bertha Jorkins’ mysterious disappearance, about Barty Crouch’s supposed illness, the Triwizard Tournament, Sirius’ trial and Crouch’s involvement, and Crouch’s severe but murky past, Ludo Bagman and how he had offered to help Harry, Snape and why Dumbledore had hired him… why Moody had been searching his office… and Harry had shared his theories, had asked question after question, and Ron and Hermione chimed in and out, as well…

And they talked for so long and so late, over and over, disagreeing and agreeing and speculating over every detail…

“You’d better get back to school,” Sirius said finally, noticing the shadows had shifted on the cave walls. Harry looked like he very much did _not_ want to go back to school, but Sirius was adament. “I don’t want you lot sneaking out of school to see me, all right?” He said forcefully at the three of them, paying special attention to his godson. “Just send me notes here. I still want to hear about anything odd. _But_ ,” he emphasized, “You’re _not_ to go leaving Hogwarts without permission; it would be an ideal opportunity for someone to attack you.”

“No one’s tried to attack me so far, except a dragon and a couple of grindylows,” said Harry, clearly trying to make a joke, but after the conversation they’d had, Sirius wasn’t much in the mood for laughing.

“I don’t care,” Sirius responded, scowling. “I’ll breathe freely again when this tournament’s over, and that’s not until June.”

He reminded them to call him Snuffles in public, and transformed to walk them back to Hogsmeade. At the outskirts of the village, he accepted soft pats on his head from each of them, not overlooking the fact that Harry’s hand lingered there a bit longer than the other two’s had. He watched them leave over his shoulder as he too padded away.

He was glad that Harry had Ron and Hermione: he had not forgotten the way that they had stood up for Harry last year. Ron in particular, thirteen or fourteen years old, standing on a broken leg telling Sirius that if he wanted to kill Harry, he’d have to kill him too… well, it was the sort of thing Sirius would have said about James, and vice-versa.

And Harry, of course, was just— it was almost painful sometimes, not just how much he _looked_ like James, but spoke like him too— sometimes, when Sirius would glance at him, for a split second, he would almost forget that his best friend wasn’t right there…

But it was always only a second. For Harry was still a bit different from James: he didn’t really have the same level of righteousness, and he had a fiery piece to him that was so— so _Lily_. But there was something else he had that neither of them had possessed— it was this sort of… of sadness, or something? Or anger, or pain— or, frustration?— maybe all four— it was very subtle, and Sirius had only just begun to pick up on it. He still couldn’t deduce what it was exactly. Remus would know. Remus was softer and gentler and more… observant than he was. He tended to pick up on things that Sirius missed.

And now, here he was, back in the cave, thinking about Remus again. He resisted the urge to punch a rock.

How could Remus have tried to stop him from being close to Harry!? Did he not comprehend the danger Harry was in, danger _far_ beyond Sirius was risking right now— he, Sirius, was safe, could transform into a dog and easily hide, nobody was looking for him in the _country_ , let alone Hogsmead— but meanwhile, Harry was front and center competing in a Tournament that had once resulted in death, there was someone who had made sure he was a part of it, someone that could attack him at any time, and Harry was making _jokes_ about it— well, Sirius couldn’t— in fact, sometimes it felt like Sirius was the only one who was taking the matter, well, _seriously._ Dumbledore and the Ministry were letting him compete, Remus was acting like as long as he was in the castle, he’d be safe, when the castle was where his name got entered in the first place, and Harry himself was sneaking about it at night as if he were invincible, as if someone wasn’t probably stalking his every move…

He groaned and slumped against the cave wall. If it weren’t for Wormtail, none of this would have happened. Harry would have been visiting with him in the Three Broomsticks right now, with James and Lily, and Remus too— and Harry would be talking excitedly about watching the Tournament, as a spectator, Sirius and James would be trying to figure out how many secret passageways Harry had discovered yet, Lily and Remus would shoot them reproachful looks, but at the same time, both of them would be fighting back smiles… maybe if he and Remus hadn’t had those twelve years apart, they could have worked things out, they could’ve gotten back together… and maybe, just maybe, after Wolfsbane Potion was invented— Sirius would’ve been able to afford it, and James— with access to it, maybe Remus would see that he was no longer a danger at all, not to Harry, not to any child, and maybe…

But then again, if James and Lily hadn’t been killed on that night, Voldemort wouldn’t have been destroyed, either— the war would’ve kept on, and perhaps they’d all have died— and he knew, as much as he hated it, he knew that James and Lily would die all over again, for their son, to protect their son: there were some things worth dying for, isn’t that what they all always said? But there had to be things worth living for, too, no matter how awful life was. Maybe that’s all war was. Knowing when to live and when to die.

James and Lily had died. Harry had lived, Harry was living: and Sirius was here to make sure he stayed that way.

He just hadn’t realized what a nearly impossible task it would be.

Harry seemed to have kept his head down for the next couple of months; his correspondence mostly consisted of large, lopsided food packages carried by multiple disgruntled owls (highlights included an entire ham and a full bottle of firewhiskey that Sirius polished off a little quicker than he maybe should’ve), as well as short notes that all maintained nothing of note was happening at all. ****

> **_Sirius,  
> _ ** **_Let me know if this is enough food, it’s the most I could manage without resorting to four owls.  
> _ ** **_—Harry_ **

> **_Hi Sirius,  
> _ ** **_We still haven’t heard from Ron’s brother Percy, but I'll write you as soon as we do.  
> _ ** **_—Harry_ **

> **_Sirius,  
> _ ** **_Percy wrote back, it was quite short and he gave us nearly nothing. All he said is Crouch is sending him instructions via owl, but he has not actually seen him in person because he’s "taking a break” whatever that might mean. So, nothing new.  
> _ ** **_—Harry_ **

> **_Hi Sirius,  
> _ ** **_Everything is fine here, hope you’re doing okay.  
> _ ** **_—Harry_**

> **_Sirius,  
> _ ** **_Nothing new to report, I hope you like treacle tarts, they’re my favorite.  
> _ ** **_—Harry_ **

That last one had hit particularly hard, for treacle tarts had been Lily’s favorite dessert, as well.

And he’d have thought that with this long spell with no awful news, no vicious attack, that his anxiety would be abated, but no. It seemed instead to increase tenfold, because the longer the days passed without an incident, the closer the inevitability of one seemed to come.

So, in late May, when an owl swooped into the cave with nothing but a thick roll of parchment, Sirius’ heart dropped into his stomach. He reached out and pulled it from the owl’s leg, unrolling it so quickly it nearly ripped.

> **_Sirius,_ ** ****
> 
> **_Hi, sorry to write you so early, but last night something happened— all of the champions were down at the Quidditch Pitch to learn about the Third Task (it’s a maze), and afterwards Viktor Krum wanted to speak with me, so we went towards the forest, but after we spoke for a bit, out of nowhere_ ** **_Barty Crouch_ ** **_came stumbling out of the trees— he looked awful Sirius, all scraped up and stuff, and he was babbling, completely out of his mind, seemed to think his wife and son were still alive, and he was talking to Percy as if he were there, giving him instructions and stuff. But in-between all of that he had these moments where he seemed coherent, and he grabbed me and told me he had to warn Dumbledore about something, and he brought up Bertha Jorkins, saying that she was dead and it was all his fault. And then he said that Voldemort was getting stronger. And the whole time he kept saying over and over that he needed to warn Dumbledore, so I left Krum with him and ran to the castle and got him (Dumbledore), but I couldn’t find him at first and then Snape held me up so by the time I found him and we got to the grounds, Crouch was gone and Krum was stunned. Dumbledore woke Krum up and Krum said Crouch had attacked him from behind— Hagrid went to get Karkaroff, he was furious about Krum, he started yelling at Dumbledore. But I don’t know if Crouch actually attacked him, Sirius— he was really weak and stumbling around, I can’t imagine he’d be capable of taking him on and then doing a runner in that state. Moody went looking for him in the forest, but I haven’t heard anything yet, because Dumbledore made me go straight to Gryffindor Tower before he got back. I’ll let you know if I find out anything else._ ** ****
> 
> **_—Harry_ **

Sirius stared at the letter, unable to believe his eyes. Barty Crouch, perhaps not ill after all, or maybe he was, but something was important enough to make him, what, _hike_ to Hogwarts to speak with Dumbledore about the apparent death of Bertha Jorkins and the strengthening of Voldemort— and Harry, _Harry_ had walked right into the _Forbidden Forest_ with Karkaroff’s student, an _ex-Death Eater’s_ student, a student that had been attacked by someone who had clearly wanted to stop Crouch from speaking with Dumbledore— Harry had probably been right there, feet away, without knowing— Krum had just been stunned, and it was clear that he hadn’t been the main target: whether he had been an innocent bystander or setting Harry up, Sirius didn’t care, because either way, if Harry hadn’t left to get Dumbledore, if he had stayed, or attempted to bring Crouch with them to the castle, he could have been attacked too, or worse… Crouch may have been old, may have been out of his mind, but he was still a ruthless, capable wizard, and only someone who was very dangerous and very skilled could have overtaken him, just like only someone who was very dangerous and very skilled could have crossed Dumbledore’s age line and placed Harry’s name in the Goblet of Fire— and Harry was out, at night, as if Sirius hadn’t been warning him of attacks for months, as if Sirius hadn’t told him to stop sneaking around and getting involved…

Sirius actually let out a roar of frustration. _What_ was Harry _playing at_!? The Third Task was nearly upon him, and with it, the last chance for someone to attack Harry and still make it look like an accident. Whoever it was, they were bound to be desperate by now. He could have been killed, he could still be killed, but instead of keeping his head down he was ignoring the warnings and playing detective!

He began to pace, his anger mounting. He had half a mind to transform and go straight to the castle right then, to drag Harry out of his dormitory by the collar and lock him in Dumbledore’s office. But Harry was James’ son, and he’d probably find a way out of that anyways— and he felt his stomach drop a fraction when he remembered he himself had gotten Harry a penknife that unlocked any door for Christmas, and how Remus had raised his eyebrows…

Remus. Remus would have a better plan than full-on kidnapping his godson. He’d tell Harry to study, wouldn’t he— to learn as many protective spells as he could, and lie in wait… sure, if it were Sirius in Harry’s shoes, he’d want to seek out whoever the attacker was and jinx them first, but this was Harry, and Harry _could not do_ that, because if something happened to Harry—

No.

He’d just tell him then, what Remus would say. Head down, study, prepare for the Third Task. Master stunning and disarming, learn and practice basic hexes, but be cautious. Don’t go looking for the fight: instead, prepare for it, so when it comes to you, you’re ready…

He wrote Harry back as soon as he had calmed down enough to hold a quill. But, not three days later, another letter arrived, almost double the length of the one previous.

Sirius actually did rip this one while opening it.

> **_Sirius,_ ** ****
> 
> **_So I fell asleep during Divination and had another dream about Voldemort. He was talking to Wormtail, telling him that someone was dead, and that he was going to feed me to a snake, and then he tortured Wormtail for making a mistake or something, but I didn’t see what happened next because my scar hurt so badly it woke me up. I did what you said and went to Dumbledore, but he was having a meeting with Professor Moody and Cornelious Fudge about Crouch’s disappearence (Fudge thought Madame Maxime had something to do with it, which is stupid, she wasn’t even around when Crouch came out of the woods), and Dumbledore told me to wait in his office because they were going to have a look at the grounds._ ** ****
> 
> **_While they were gone, I sort of ended up in Dumbledore’s Pensieve. I saw a bunch of his memories, and they were all of these trials in this huge Ministry courtroom, and Crouch was heading them. The first one was Karkaroff, actually— he came from Azkaban, and gave Crouch a bunch of names of Death Eaters, and guess what, one of them was SNAPE. So Ron and I were right— Snape_ did _work for Voldemort, Dumbledore even confirmed it— he said Snape left the Death Eaters and became a spy for him, but he wouldn’t tell me why he did that, or why he trusts him._** ****
> 
> **_The second trial was Ludo Bagman, which was really unexpected, but the whole thing was kind of a joke— he was accused of passing information to Death Eaters, but he said he didn’t realize the person he was talking to was even a Voldemort supporter, and they let him off almost unanimously. Rita Skeeter was there too._ ** ****
> 
> **_The last trial was Crouch’s son, plus three others— two wizards and a witch, accused of torturing_ ** **_~~Ne~~ ~~my fr~~_ ** **_a couple of Aurors. You were right, Crouch was furious, he didn’t care that it was his son, and he sentenced them all to life in Azkaban even though his son was screaming that he wasn’t involved, and Dumbledore says he still doesn’t know whether he was innocent or guilty. I think the_ witch _was guilty, though— she was talking about how Voldemort would rise again, and didn’t seem scared at all, even when the dementors took them away._** ****
> 
> **_Anyways, when Dumbledore came back to his office, we talked for a bit, and I told him about my dream— the thing is, Sirius, he says he thinks my dreams might be real, like really happening, which doesn’t make sense because Voldemort was holding a wand in my dream, but he couldn’t have done that unless he had a body, so I don’t know… but Dumbledore also said that he thinks my scar is connected to Voldemort, and it hurts when he’s close to me and when he’s feeling very angry, so it could be either of those things that made my scar hurt this time, or both…_ ** ****
> 
> **_All in all, it seems like Dumbledore thinks Voldemort is getting stronger. He said that all of the recent disappearences are linked, and that disappearances also happened last time he rose to power, so now that it’s happening again… well, let me know what you think._ ** ****
> 
> **_—Harry_ ** ****

Sirius almost laughed. “ _Sort of ended up in Dumbledore’s Pensieve…”_ But of course, the remainder of the letter wasn’t very funny at all.

So, Snape _had_ been a Death Eater. It wasn’t exactly shocking information, but Sirius felt a fury just the same: he knew Dumbledore was trusting, but hiring someone who had worked for Voldemort directly? And it was Remus who had received the hate mail, and Hagrid who had been exposed in the _Daily Prophet,_ while Snape continued to teach Potions in the warmth and comfort of the castle, protected by Dumbledore’s word, bullying students with no one the wiser… ****

And Harry had seen the trial of Barty Crouch’s son, then, which meant the witch he had seen was Bellatrix, his _dear_ cousin. Of course she wouldn’t have even attempted to feign innocence, she had always been fanatic with support, obsessive with her lust for Voldemort and his goals, even when Sirius was a kid.

As for Ludo Bagman, well, Sirius didn’t know what to think. He had been slightly troubled when Harry had mentioned what a liking Bagman had seemed to take to him, specifically by helping him out with the Tournament, and now this— well, perhaps he _was_ stupid enough to accidentally help a Death Eater, but it was always possible…

But Harry, Harry shouldn’t be worrying about any of this! Even if what Dumbledore said was true, and Harry’s dream was real— and though he hoped it wasn’t, it would have been quite enjoyable to see Wormtail be tortured, he only wished he could have done it himself— there was nothing Harry could do about it. It was unlikely that Voldemort, in whatever shadow of a form he had, would come after Harry with Dumbledore there, but that did nothing to quell Sirius’ anxiety. It was possible that whoever was after Harry was acting in Voldemort’s orders, but it was also possible they were unrelated— either way, Harry needed to focus on getting through the Third Task alive first, that was most important.

And at this thought, Sirius grabbed a fresh piece of parchment. He’d write back to Harry in a moment, but first, he had to send a letter to Dumbledore: the Third Task was a month away, but Sirius wanted to be there for it, wanted to watch it happen, to see with his own eyes that Harry would be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to update this next one extra fast, because the chapter after this might take a tad longer to get out-- it's a doozy. Please leave comments and kudos if you have the time, it really keeps me going! :)


	10. Return from the Dead, Return from the Maze, Return Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Third Task and the aftermath, as Sirius sees it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes place in real-time during the GoF chapters 31- 36 (a few pieces of dialogue are quoted to maintain story consistency)

_June 24th, 1995  
_ _Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry, Scotland_

The sun had already set by the time Sirius had padded, on all fours, onto the grounds of Hogwarts. He made his way to Hagrid’s hut, towards the enormous pumpkin patch, trying not to think about how the last time he had been here, Remus had transformed into a werewolf, and Sirius had almost gotten the dementor’s kiss…

He set resolutely on, stepping over large, knotted vines, and around pumpkins the size of stagecoaches, until he found a particularly comfortable soft spot of leaves to sit on. He dropped to his haunches, surveying the scene before him.

The Quidditch pitch was entirely covered with enormous, twenty-foot hedges— it was, indeed, a _maze_ , and Sirius felt his tail wagging slightly, amused, thinking of how James would’ve reacted if he could see this, see that someone had desecrated his _precious Quidditch field_ …

And there were figures walking now, towards the maze, five in all, one of them with very distinct messy hair and round glasses… Sirius resisted the urge to gallop across the lawn and jump on him: he wanted to bark, so let Harry know he was there, he was watching— but no, now all of the spectators were entering the stadium, filing into the rows, he couldn’t see their faces, but he could hear their words, chattering excitedly— but he was listening for something else, looking for any sign of someone who was paying special attention to Harry, someone who might want to harm him.

A booming voice erupted from nowhere, and Sirius had been straining his ears so much that this unexpected explosion made him jump a foot in the air.

“…THE THIRD AND FINAL TASK OF THE TRIWIZARD TOURNAMENT IS ABOUT TO BEGIN,” the voice echoed. “LET ME REMIND YOU HOW THE POINTS CURRENTLY STAND! TIED IN FIRST PLACE, WITH EIGHTY-FIVE POINTS EACH— MR. CEDRIC DIGGORY AND MR. HARRY POTTER, BOTH OF HOGWARTS SCHOOL!” Screaming cheers filled the sky, and as the announcer continued with the other champions’ points, he watched Harry wave to someone in the stands. He wondered who it was.

The cheering died down. A whistle blew.

Harry and the other boy, Cedric, both strode towards the maze, at a speed somewhere between running and walking. They reached the entrance; wandlight glinted off Harry’s glasses, and then he was gone.

Sirius stared at the opening through which his godson had vanished, and felt an abrupt swell of unease arise within him. He hadn’t known what he’d expected, but as he watched Victor Krum and Flear Delacour disappear into the leaves, it certainly wasn’t this. What, were they really supposed to stare at these dark hedges forever? There was no way to see within— what was the point of an audience, what was the point in framing this as a game, when it really felt like a sort of twisted experiment?

His ears were sharp. He listened to the rustle of the leaves, but he couldn’t hear any footsteps from inside the maze— the thick hedges seemed to muffle most sounds.

That is, until sometime later, when a piercing scream erupted from their depths.

Sirius stood up, alert, every sense firing: that sound couldn’t be Harry, it was much too high— one of the patrolling figures entered the maze— there was a long silence, and the whole stadium seemed the hold its breath— and then the figure re-emerged, holding the silvery haired witch in their arms— Fleur Delacour. Sirius watched as she was woken up. She seemed alright. He wondered, though, what was in the maze, what had caused her to cry out…

More minutes passed. Then more, and more still.

And then, an explosion of red sparks, high in the night sky.

Sirius took a few steps forward, eyes and ears straining, and he watched as one of the teachers carried what could only be Viktor Krum from the opening of the maze.

Sirius felt himself relax just a fraction. Igor Karkaroff’s champion was no longer in there with Harry. He watched as Krum was revived, as he sat up, looking around, rubbing his head. The crowd was yelling, booing or cheering or maybe both… but Sirius had turned his attention back to the hedges.

Several minutes passed.

Several more minutes passed.

A half an hour now, maybe longer.

The maze was silent, save for rustling leaves.

The crowd seemed to be getting bored and restless. There was a lot more talking amongst themselves, chattering, that drifted across the grounds. Sirius began to pace, tongue out, ears raised, alert. There is no way Harry should be taking this long: the maze was large, but it wasn’t endless; one of them should’ve reached the center by now, even by sheer dumb luck.

If Remus were here he’d have sarcastically commanded Sirius to “sit” and be patient.

An hour.

Something was wrong. Wasn’t it? He had half a mind to run into the maze himself, right now. The teachers were still patrolling, but if they shared any of his anxiety, Sirius could not tell from that far away. It was fully night now: the sky was nearly black, scattered with stars— Sirius told himself that if Harry was in trouble, he’d know, because he’d of screamed, right, just like the Delacour girl… or he’d have shot up red sparks like Krum—

Two figures spiraled out of thin air.

This sudden movement, after such a lengthy period of stillness, sent a shock radiating through Sirius’ body. He jumped, pulse pounding, as the two boys fell out of the wind and slammed violently to the ground, one on top of the other. One of them, the boy on top was clutching the Triwizard Cup… it was the smaller of the two, it was Harry, Harry was back, Harry had won, Harry had tied for first place… the crowd started to cheer, Sirius could hear them, but then, as the cheering went on, another sound cut through it all— a scream, a scream of fear—

And then someone else screamed.

And then another, and another— and now a sea of terrified yells and shouts were coming from the crowd members closest to the pitch— and Dumbledore was moving at the speed of light towards the boys on the ground, followed by half a dozen others—

Something was wrong.

Something was _wrong_.

Sirius felt himself break into a run before the thought had even registered in his brain. He skidded across the grass, getting as close as he dared, but he was still too far to really understand what was going on—but he could see their faces now, hear snatches of conversation—

Harry was on his stomach, face pressed into the grass, half on top of the other boy— Cedric Diggory— Dumbledore flipped him over in one rough, fluid motion, and Harry was staring upwards now, one fist still clenched around the cup, the other gripping onto Diggory’s robes. Dumbledore crouched down, and Harry released the cup, somehow managing to pull himself closer to Diggory and seize Dumbledore’s wrist at the same time— Harry was saying something to him, his face was screwed up— and then Cornelious Fudge was there—

“He’s dead!” A voice screamed. “Diggory’s _dead_!”

“No!”

“NO! NO, NO, _CEDRIC_!”

“He’s dead! Cedric’s dead! He’s bloody dead!”

“LET ME SEE HIM, LET ME _THROUGH_!”

“WHAT HAPPENED? WHAT HAPPENED TO HIM?”

The shouts were becoming deafening to Sirius’ sensitive dog ears, and wizards and witches alike stampeded in front of him, partially obstructing his view— Fudge was grabbing onto Harry, trying to pull him from the boy, Diggory— Diggory’s _corpse_ — but Harry was immovable— he was clinging to Cedric with his entire body now, both arms and legs wrapped around him, in a vice grip, as if in a desperate embrace, his face buried in the fabric of his robes, trembling—

And then, in a feat of strength and dexterity for a man so old, Dumbledore placed his hands under Harry’s arms and lifted him forcibly up off the ground, placing him on his feet. Harry looked like he could not stand on his own, it was as if holding onto Diggory had been his only connection to reality, and now that it was severed, he was swaying dangerously— he seemed to reach his arms out to steady himself, but his hands were still curled into fists, fingers bent around the body that was no longer in his grasp— and Sirius stared wildly at Harry’s legs, one of which was covered in dirt and blood— and then he looked back at his arms, and one of his sleeves was slashed, and it was soaked in blood as well— in fact, Harry _reeked_ of blood, the whole pitch did, and Sirius did not know how he hadn’t noticed it sooner, but now that he did, the smell was inescapable— Sirius could taste it, taste the blood, like metal in his mouth—

And then Harry buckled into the arms of someone who had come forward to grab him, and Sirius would recognize Mad-Eye Moody anywhere. And Moody had turned, and was dragging Harry through the crowd, towards the castle— and Dumbledore was staring after them, suddenly quite still, poker straight and tall amongst the hunched and crumpled bodies of mourners—

Sirius had already started bounding after Moody and Harry before he came to his senses. Moody was an Auror. Harry would be safe with him for now, and if Sirius followed them, well— Moody was the most paranoid wizard there was, he would catch on in an instant, and while Sirius considered himself pretty capable in a fight, he was no match for one of the greatest Aurors of all time. There was also the nagging suspicion he’d always had, which was that Moody’s eye might be able to tell that he wasn’t just a dog; Moody’d probably curse him into oblivion before Sirius even transformed.

An anguished wail pierced the night. Sirius turned back to the maze, momentarily distracted— the noise was Diggory’s father, it had to be— and the place where the boy lay was still swarming with people, Fudge and other teachers were shooing them away, trying to give the boy’s parents some space…

And then Dumbledore swept out of the crowd and towards the castle, his face suddenly angry and terrible— McGonagall and Snape nearly sprinted after him— and they must have been going to Harry.

Sirius felt the terrible weight in his stomach lessen just a fraction. Harry was going to be okay, he was with Moody and would soon be with Dumbledore. He was, for now, safe.

But even as this should-be-comforting thought occurred to him, he found himself vomiting into the vines on the edge of the pumpkin patch.

He did not know what to do. He did not know how to help. A boy was dead. It could’ve been Harry. It wasn’t, but it could’ve been. And he, Sirius, had just been sitting in the pumpkin patch, the entire time, doing nothing… he just wanted to see his godson, that’s all he wanted— he wished Remus were here, he’d know what to say to make Sirius calm down for a second, just a second— but he absolutely couldn’t calm down, not until he saw Harry, not until he touched him with his own hands and ensured he was unharmed—

What in the name of Merlin had happened? What on earth had happened in that maze to kill that boy?

He longed not to be a dog. His emotions and logic got clouded when he was like this. It was hard to coherently string ideas together. But it was stupid to try and find Harry now— they could be anywhere in the castle. He’d just have to trust that Dumbledore remembered he was there, and would return with information.

But it was not Dumbledore who came for him.

No, it was Minerva McGonagall who finally marched into the pumpkin patch, lifting her robes to navigate the uneven ground, stopping just before him. She looked at him. He looked at her.

“Hello,” she said.

Sirius’ human instinct to laugh and his dog ability to bark collided into a sort of bizarre squeal: did she know who he was? He had always wondered, back at school, if she suspected them… she was an Animagus herself, after all, and it had been her who had indirectly given them the idea in the first place, not that she knew that.

“Come with me, please,” she said curtly, after an awkward moment, and turned on her heel, marching back from where she came from. Sirius followed her, trotting by her side. She shot him a few side glances, but for the most part, she was silent the entire journey to the castle until they reached Dumbledore’s office.

“Cockroach Cluster,” she said to the great stone gargoyle. It sprung aside, and McGonagall led him up the spiral stone staircase to the large oak door, opening it and letting him enter before her. She looked down at him, face betraying nothing. “Dumbledore would like you to wait for him here; he will be with you shortly,” she said. Sirius let out a soft bark in response— she looked rather faint for a moment, and then, abruptly composed herself, turned, and swept back down the steps.

The moment the door closed, Sirius transformed, and there was a resounding cry of shock around him: his heart stopped in his chest before he realized it was just the portraits.

“Oh my word.”

“Merlin’s Beard, is that—!?”

“SIRIUS BLACK?”

“Won’t you shut up!?” Sirius snapped at them, absolutely not in the mood. “I’m not here to bloody murder anyone!” A few of them made affronted tutting noises, but a certain portrait that Sirius recognized immediately made the loudest noise of all. Sirius turned on the spot and glowered at the painting of his great-great-grandfather.

“Have you been cleared of all charges, then?” Phineas Nigellus asked in a mocking snide voice.

“No, sorry to disappoint,” Sirius sneered back. “But then again, I suppose you wish I’d done it, don’t you? Killed a bunch of Muggles?” Phineas Nigellus rolled his eyes and yawned pointedly. Sirius scowled at him, and then turned away, and began to pace.

The whispers of the portraits seemed to fade into an unintelligible buzzing in the background as Sirius walked back and forth around the large, circular room. It was eerie to be back here: the last time he was here was after graduating Hogwarts, when Dumbledore officially invited them to be a part of the Order of the Phoenix. The room was so different from then, and yet so the same: Fawkes sat on his perch, but he looked more regal than Sirius recalled; silver instruments still whirred on spindly tables, but maybe there were more than he remembered; and there, a large cabinet that probably held a Pensieve— the one Harry had “sort of ended up in.” He imagined the look on Remus’ face if Sirius and James had attempted to break into it while they were at school, and almost laughed. Merlin, the number of times he and James had ended up in this room… how every reprimand from Dumbledore had always felt like it had a twinkle of amusement behind it. Well, all except one, when he and James were here with Snape, the night of the full moon, and Dumbledore was looking at him with utter anger and grave disappointment when he told Sirius with blood-curdling honesty that expulsion would be more than reasonable a punishment for the prank he had pulled, but seeing as no one had been hurt, he would give him another chance… to think, Snape had gone on to become a Death Eater, and Dumbledore had then extended that same courtesy to him… another chance…

The sound of footsteps on the great stone stairs echoed into the room, and Sirius whirled to face the large oak door, heart beating in his throat.

The door swung open revealing a tall, determined-looking Dumbledore, and behind him, covered in sweat, dirt, and blood, robes torn, glasses askew, hair matted, and wearing an expression of blank, dissociated shock, was Harry.

Sirius’ stomach lurched with nausea, but his body moved him across the room, his arms out to grab Harry’s shoulders, and Harry stumbled into him, still looking blank, not saying a word. Harry’s right leg was trembling viciously, and Sirius’ own hands shook as he guided him into the chair in front of Dumbledore’s desk.

“Harry, are you all right? I knew it— I knew something like this— what happened?” He was stammering, eyes darting around Harry’s face, searching for an answer, but Harry was not even looking at him: he was staring straight ahead, unfocused, as if he were a thousand miles away. Panic seized Sirius’ chest all over again, and he turned to Dumbledore, who had remained standing, and was watching him with an unreadable expression. “What happened?” Sirius demanded, quite loudly this time, his voice cracking.

“We have just finished talking to Bartemius Crouch Junior, the man responsible for putting Harry’s name in the Goblet of Fire,” Dumbledore said.

Sirius stared at him, blinking, completely caught off guard.

_Barty Crouch Junior?_

Of _all_ the people he had suspected, that name hadn’t even been on his list.

“But he’s dead,” Sirius said, bewildered, thinking back to Azkaban, to the thrashing, screaming boy who had entered, and the still, quiet one who had exited. “I saw him, I saw the Dementors remove his body…”

“You saw what the Crouches wanted you to see,” Dumbledore said heavily. “Barty Crouch Junior’s mother elected to take Polyjuice Potion and assumed his place in Azkaban. She is the one who died there, disguised, while her son was taken by Barty Crouch Senior himself, and kept at home, hidden, under the Imperius Curse.”

Sirius blinked. This information was completely and utterly not what he had expected: it almost felt like a joke, but Dumbledore was not smiling.

“You’re aware of Bertha Jorkins,” he continued. “She alone discovered their secret. To protect his son, Mr. Crouch cast a memory charm on her so powerful, it damaged her brain permanently.” Sirius’ head was spinning, grasping to all of these sudden straws, these odd, insane connections, trying to make sense of the sudden onslaught of completely ridiculous information, but Dumbledore plowed on.

“The secret was safe, but the Imperius Curse on Mr. Crouch Junior was fading. Mr. Crouch Senior took him to the Quidditch World Cup. He was sitting, invisible, in the Top Box, when he saw Harry sitting in front of him. Harry’s wand was sticking out of his pocket. He took it.”

Sirius glanced sideways at Harry. He didn’t appear to be listening.

“He returned to his tent after the match, with Harry's wand, and awoke when the Death Eaters rallied. He was angry with them for not seeking out Voldemort all these years. Winky, his house-elf, kept him from going after them, but he still managed to use Harry’s wand to cast the Dark Mark. The Ministry arrived on the scene, and Mr. Crouch Junior and Winky were stunned. They were discovered By Mr. Crouch Senior, who dismissed Winky, and Impiriused his son once more. Voldemort, in the meantime, had captured and tortured Bertha Jorkins. He broke through the memory charm— she informed him of the Triwizard Tournament, that Alastor Moody was set to teach at Hogwarts this year, and of course, that young Barty was still alive, still faithful, still attempting to find him.”

“What does Mad-Eye have to do with this!?” Sirius demanded, half expecting the Auror to leap out from behind a cupboard and tackle him to the ground.

“I am getting to that,” Dumbledore said, maddeningly calm. “Voldemort arrived at Crouch’s house, carried by Peter Pettigrew.” And a knife twisted in Sirius’ stomach. Wormtail, carrying Voldemort, or whatever shadow of him was left, the man who had murdered his best friend… so he had returned to his old master, after all, and Sirius wished, _wished_ he had just killed him when he’d had the chance…

“Barty Crouch Senior was placed under the Imperius Curse, and his son was freed.” Dumbledore went on. “They hatched a plan— Peter and Barty prepared Polyjuice Potion, and went to Alastor’s home. There was a struggle. Alastor was subdued, and imprisoned in his own trunk, and Barty, armed with Polyjuice Potion, took his form…” a wave of understanding crashed over Sirius, followed immediately by a wave of fear and regret— Moody had dragged Harry from the maze into the castle, and Sirius hadn’t gone after them—

“When Arthur arrived at Alastor’s house, it seemed like a false alarm. All went according to plan: Barty came to Hogwarts in disguise, with a clear agenda: to ensure Harry was entered in the Triwizard Tournament, to ensure he performed well enough in the first two tasks that he would be the first to enter the maze, to ensure the cup was made a Portkey and Harry was the one to reach it first. He became a mentor to Harry this year, while Voldemort and Peter remained at Mr. Crouch Senior’s home, watching over him, feeding the Ministry the story that he was ill.”

“But Crouch escaped,” Sirius said suddenly, remembering Harry’s letter. “He sought you out…” Dumbledore nodded.

“Indeed,” he said. “Barty saw his father enter the grounds. He had a map. Harry had given it to him.” His eyes seemed to x-ray Sirius at this point, but he did not harp on the moment for long. “He sought out his father, who had approached Harry and Viktor Krum. When Harry left to retrieve me, Barty stunned Mr. Krum and killed his father. He buried him in the forest.”

Dumbledore said these last parts softly, but personally, Sirius did not feel any sort of remorse for Barty Crouch Senior’s death. “Alright,” he said shortly. “And then— the maze—”

“Yes,” Dumbledore said. “He charmed the cup; he made it a Portkey. He placed it in the center. He needed to ensure Harry reached it first, so he stunned Miss Delacour, and Imperiused Mr. Krum to attack Mr. Diggory.” At this last name, Harry made a small noise— like a breathy inhale— and both Dumbledore and Sirius turned to look at him.Fawkes swooped from his perch, and landed upon Harry’s knee. Harry lifted his hand up— the first time Sirius had seen him move since he had sat down— and stroked the bird’s red-and-gold feathers.

“‘Lo Fawkes,” Harry whispered, and he suddenly looked both so young and so old, all at once. Dumbledore stared at him, and then, sat down across from him, on the other side of the desk, never looking away. Sirius remained standing by his side. Harry’s eyes remained trained on the phoenix in his lap.

“I need to know what happened after you touched the Portkey in the maze, Harry,” Dumbledore said quietly, after a moment. Sirius felt a sudden rush of anger towards the old man in front of him: did Dumbledore not see, as Sirius did, that Harry was on the verge of collapse?

“We can leave that till morning, can’t we, Dumbledore?” Sirius said, his voice high. He reached out and grasped Harry’s shoulder. “Let him have a sleep. Let him rest.” Harry’s weary eyes found him, and he could have sworn there was appreciation in there, but Dumbledore remained, as always, calmly adament.

“If I thought I could help you by putting you into an enchanted sleep and allowing you to postpone the moment when you would have to think about what has happened tonight, I would do it,” Dumbledore spoke softly, kindness and compassion in every word. Harry met his eyes. “But I know better,” Dumbledore continued. “Numbing the pain for a while will make it worse when you finally feel it. You have shown bravery beyond anything I could have expected of you. I ask you to demonstrate your courage one more time. I ask you to tell us what happened.”

Fawkes let out a soothing cry. Harry took a deep breath. Sirius and Dumbledore watched him in silence.

“…Okay,” he finally said, and that one word sounded like it cost him all the effort he had. Sirius’ throat was constricted— he wanted to know what happened, but not if it caused Harry this amount of pain— but Harry had begun to speak.

“We took the cup together,” he said hoarsely. “It transported us to a graveyard. We, er— we thought it might be part of the Third Task, at first. But then— Wormtail and Voldemort— he was carrying him, they walked up to us. I thought it was a baby— but then out of nowhere, my scar just— it hurt so badly, I’ve never— it’s never hurt like that before. I didn’t know what was going on, I couldn’t pay attention it was so bad— I had dropped my wand, and— and— I heard them— Voldemort, he told Wormtail to do it— and he did— he killed him— Cedric.” The look on his face brought something out of Sirius he had never quite felt before— and he looked at Dumbledore, angry again, opening his mouth to interrupt, to say that Harry didn’t need to relive this, not right now, but Dumbledore held up a hand to stop him, and Harry plowed resolutely on.

“Wormtail tied me to a gravestone— Voldemort’s dad’s, and then he gagged me. Uh, there was a snake. And then Wormtail— he pushed this huge, full cauldron in front of me, and he started to heat it up. And then he picked up Voldemort, and um, unwrapped the blankets, and he looked— like— awful, small and scabbed, almost like he didn’t have skin— I can’t really— his face looked like a snake— and Wormtail dropped him in the cauldron…” Sirius felt a noise come from deep within him, but once again, Dumbledore held up his hand.

“And then… he took bone dust, or something, from Tom Riddle’s grave, and added it to the cauldron as well. And— and then— Wormtail he— he cut off his own hand— and added that too. And then he— he came to me, and he pierced my arm with a dagger, and took my blood, in a vial, and poured it in—”

The forceful cry that erupted from Sirius was out of his control, and even Dumbledore shot up out of his chair. Sirius felt blind with rage. Dumbledore swept around the desk, his eyes flashing.

“Harry, can you stretch out your arm and show us, please?” He asked. Harry nodded, and brought up his right arm, pulling aside the slashed fabric, and showed Sirius and Dumbledore the cut. Sirius sucked in his breath, his pulse pounding with fury: he could almost see, clearly, how Wormtail had done it, how he had pierced the soft inner skin of Harry's elbow, and twisted just so, dragging the blade along his forearm…

“Voldemort— he said my blood would make him stronger than if he’d used someone else’s,” Harry said, looking at Dumbledore. And then, he was stammering as he continued, “He said the protection my— my mother left in me— he’d have it too. And he was right—” He swallowed. “He could touch me without hurting himself, he touched my face.”

It was all Sirius could do not to vomit again, not to yell and scream. His stomach was roiling, he tasted bile— Voldemort was back, Voldemort was back and he had touched Harry, touched Harry’s face, _physically touched him_ — Lily’s protection running in _Voldemort’s_ veins, the life she had sacrificed for her son now fueling the rebirth of her own murderer…

But Dumbledore did not seem to feel the same anger he did— in fact, he had a rather strange reaction, one that Sirius could not quite place, but then it was over, and he told Harry to continue. And continue, he did.

“So… there was all this white steam, and then he— sort of— grew out of it, and he had a body— tall, really pale… red eyes… he wasn’t quite human but… he was back. And he— he took his wand and— Wormtail, he had a— like a tattoo or something, of the Dark Mark, and Voldemort pressed it with his finger… and then, he started talking about his parents, but I don’t really remember… and then, all of a sudden, the Death Eaters came— Apparated— and there were so many of them— and he was angry at them for not searching for him, he tortured one of them, Avery…”

Sebastian Avery— Sirius had gone to school with him, he’d been a Slytherin in their year, he’d been friends with Snape, he’d hexed Remus once, he called Lily a Mudblood thousands of times… Lily herself had fought him once on a mission for the Order, she’d Stunned him, she’d won… but Avery had avoided Azkaban by pretending to be under the Imperius Curse, he remembered the whispers between the cells…

“He gave Wormtail a- a new hand, or something, as a reward. It was silver… and then, he went to some of them and addressed them personally… Lucius Malfoy was one of them—” and Harry paused for a moment, giving Dumbledore a hard look, but Dumbledore merely nodded, and Harry continued, “Erm— Macnair, Crabbe, Goyle… Nott… oh,” he added quickly. “He also said that— that the dementors would join their side, and the giants too.”

“But of course,” Dumbledore said softly. Sirius shot him a look— the giants had been an issue the past war, but the dementors had always seemed to float in neutral territory, if you could ever call feeding off death and misery “neutral”… Voldemort with an army of dementors would be… unpleasant.

“And then he delivered a sort of speech,” Harry continued. “About what happened after he— after I— the night he lost his body. He said, er, he was— ‘less than a spirit’— and he mentioned that an experiment he had done worked, or something, and he had gone farther than anyone in— in ‘conquering death’…” Dumbledore’s eyes were flashing, and Sirius was glad his hand was incapacitated on Harry’s shoulder or he very much thought he would lurch forward and shake the old man, and demand to know what was going on in his head.

“And he said all he could do in this, um, _form…_ was possess other people. And he told them… about possessing Quirrell…” And Sirius opened his mouth, wanting to ask a million questions, but again, _again,_ Dumbledore held up a hand.

“And when Quirrell died, Voldemort escaped, but he said he was really weak, and he wouldn’t have ever regained power if it weren’t…” his cheeks seem to flush angrily. “If it weren’t for Wormtail.” Sirius felt the white-hot anger fill his body again. What he wouldn’t give to go back in time and stop the little rat from escaping…

“He told them that Wormtail found him, and brought Bertha Jorkins to him… they got information, and then he killed her… and Wormtail made Voldemort a body, the temporary one, the— the small one. And then, well, he explained about Barty Crouch Junior. And then his speech was done. And then he, um—” And Sirius realized with a start that Harry was sweating: his glasses slid a bit down his nose, a drop ran down the side of his head. “He… tortured me… The Cruciatus Curse.”

Dumbledore closed his eyes, and Sirius’ heart dropped into his stomach.

“And then he had Wormtail untie me,” Harry plunged on, his voice hoarse. “And give me back my wand. He wanted to duel, and he— he made me bow. And then he Crucio’d me again. And then he put me under the Imperius Curse, but, um, I fought it. And then we were facing each other, and I went to disarm him, and he— he shot the Killing Curse at me at the same time…”

Sirius felt himself shaking. The Killing Curse could not be blocked, how had Harry managed to dodge—

“But the spells— they— they connected,” Harry went on, and his voice started to sound strained, it was shaking violently. “And the beam of light— connecting them— turned gold— and we lifted up— off the ground—and— and—” and Harry’s voice cracked and died in his throat. He was covered with sweat again, he looked so ill, he looked so small, so tired… Sirius remained gripping his shoulder, and fighting to keep his own composure, and trying as desperately as he could to give Harry a moment of rest, he turned to Dumbledore, and asked, asked why their wands had connected, for he had never even heard of that occurring, much less seen it himself…

“ _Priori Incantatem,”_ Dumbledore answered. And he explained to Sirius how Harry’s and Voldemort’s wands had matching cores— phoenix feathers from Fawkes’ own tail— and because the wands were brothers, when they met, one would overpower the other, force it to regurgitate the last spells it performed… “A shadow of the living Cedric would have emerged from the wand… am I correct, Harry?” Dumbledore asked.

“He spoke to me,” Harry said hoarsely, and suddenly he was trembling from head to toe. “The… the ghost Cedric, or whatever he was… spoke.”

“An echo,” Dumbledore murmured, looking at him carefully. “Which retained Cedric’s appearance and character. I am guessing other such forms appeared… less recent victims of Voldemort’s wand…”

“An old man,” Harry wavered, trembling even more violently, so violently that Sirius’ whole arm was shaking with him. “Bertha Jorkins. And…”

“Your parents?” Dumbledore said softly.

Sirius felt the world turn upside-down.

“Yes,” Harry choked.

And Sirius’ grip on Harry’s shoulder suddenly became a support not for his godson, but for himself, for if he let go of Harry, he would surely fall, plummet into space, disappear— James and Lily, returned— an ‘echo,’ yes, but back— and Sirius could vaguely hear Dumbledore asking what these ghosts, these echos had done, but his voice seemed so far away, and he wanted to know, but he did not think he could handle knowing…

“They all… they told me to hold on, not to let go,” Harry quavered. “And they floated there like— like they were— protecting me. And I think— I think Voldemort was afraid of them. And then my mum… she told me to wait for my dad, that he was coming— and then— and then he was there—”

Sirius felt like he was being ripped in two. He was falling apart, he could not keep it together, the lump in his throat was too large—

“And he told me— that once the connection was broken— they’d stay for a second to give me time— to get back— to the Portkey. And then Cedric— Cedric asked me— to bring his body back— to— to bring his body back to his— parents—” 

And the tears had seeped from Sirius’ eyes, he could not stop them from coming, and they burned, hot and cruel, and it was only then that he let go of Harry’s shoulder, to cover his face, so Harry would not see him like this. He refused to breathe. If he breathed, he feared he would sob. Instead, he buried his face in his hands, muffling everything, shutting it all out, just for a moment.

He heard Fawkes let out another low cry. Dumbledore was saying something to Harry. Sirius could not register what it was. He focused only on drying his face, on getting himself together. He lowered his hands only when he heard his name— Dumbledore asking him if he’d like to accompany Harry to the Hospital Wing.

Sirius nodded numbly, and the transformation back to the dog was an escape this time— things felt simpler, like this. He padded with them through the castle, Harry was walking on his own now that Fawkes had apparently healed his leg— they went straight into the Hospital Wing, where they found Ron, Hermione, and— wow, Fabian and Gideon Prewett’s sister, Molly Weasley, he’d only ever seen her in pictures— and, a tall boy with an earring, who must be another one of her sons…

Harry barely looked at Ron or Hermione as he got into bed, but he talked to Molly, who bustled over him like a mother. Sirius could only watch from the floor as Harry downed a potion and drifted off into sleep— the moment he had, Molly turned away, tears traveling down her face— her older son, who seemed to be named Bill, patted her shoulder.

“He’ll be okay, you reckon?” Ron said to no one in particular, in a shaky voice, looking at Harry’s sleeping body like he’d explode any moment. Sirius suddenly felt a light pressure on his head— Hermione, it seemed, had absentmindedly started petting him.

“He’s seen another student die, Ron,” she said, slightly scathingly, but her voice sounded much too high. “I’m sure he’s going to— to need some time…”

Molly Weasley let out a trembling exhale, but as Sirius looked at her, he realized it was shaking with anger, not sadness. “Well, I don’t want him returning to his Aunt and Uncle’s this summer,” she said, suddenly so determined, so resolute, it was almost startling. “After what he’s been through— I want him to be with— he can stay with us. I’ll arrange a meeting with Dumbledore.”

“And if Dumbledore says no,” Bill said, quietly to Ron, mouth twitching slightly. “You can always go find the old Ford Angela…”

“No one in this stupid family’s ever gonna let me forget that,” Ron muttered. Sirius had no idea what they were talking about, but he didn’t care, because Molly Weasley’s anger was contagious, and licking over him—

If Wormtail had not escaped, Harry would not have been in the Tournament, he would not have watched someone die, he would not be lying in the hospital bed before them— no, he’d he finishing up his Fourth Year, and then for the summer, he wouldn’t stay with Lily’s awful sister, instead, Sirius would get a flat in London, just like he used to have, and Harry’d move in with him there—they’d be close to Diagon Alley…

Or, better yet, they’d go to Remus’ cottage for the summer: Sirius’d get a broom, he and Harry would practice Quidditch above the open fields while Remus read a book in the grass below…

And the anger of not having this, the anger of Voldemort’s return, was only amplified tenfold by the events that followed. Fudge, McGonagall, and Snape bursting in and waking Harry up. Fudge not believing Voldemort had returned— Snape showing his arm, the mark upon it, to Fudge— Harry shouting that he wasn’t lying, listing the names, the names of Death Eaters he had told Sirius and Dumbledore— Dumbledore maintaining that Harry was telling the truth, Fudge adamantly refusing to believe it… and Barty Crouch Junior, their proof, kissed by dementors…

The Ministry would not be on their side. But Sirius was not shocked; The Ministry had never been on his side. They did not look for further proof, and they did not trust the innocent. They clung to scapegoats and easy criminals. They saw what they wanted to see, they wrapped complicated, greater problems into small solvable boxes with perfect bows. Fudge had been the very man to arrest him. Sirius was not shocked. But Harry, very clearly, was.

Fudge left. Dumbledore turned to them all.

“There is work to be done,” Dumbledore said, and the truthfulness of this statement, of what it carried and what it meant, seemed to settle upon all of them.

Dumbledore sent Bill to contact his father at the Ministry— they’d need to find as many as people as possible there who would give them support. He sent McGonagall to retrieve Hagrid, and Sirius already knew, thinking back to Rita Skeeter’s article, what his task would be.

Dumbledore forcing Sirius to transform, and to shake Snape’s hand, though, had been an impossible task in itself. But he’d done it, deciding, as he did, that dying would be less painful. Snape was a Death Eater. Again, not a shock. But as he let go of the pale, oily hand, he thought of Karkaroff, and wondered what made Snape change loyalties, and when he had done so.

Dumbledore, who had very impatiently watched this exchange, turned to Sirius once more. “Fudge’s attitude, though not unexpected, changes everything,” he said, a fierce energy behind his words. “Sirius, I need you to set off at once. You are to alert Remus Lupin, Arabella Figg, Mundungus Fletcher— the old crowd. Lie low at Lupin’s for a while; I will contact you there.”

So, the Order of the Phoenix would be regrouping once more. And he, Sirius, would be returning to Remus’ cottage. They had not spoken or wrote since their fight four months ago.

“But—” Harry’s voice pierced through the conversation. Sirius turned to him. He looked very old, sitting in bed, swathed in blankets, dark circles beneath his green eyes. Sirius felt a lump arise in his throat yet again. He did not want to leave right away— it was only now he really realized that he had not gotten a moment alone with his godson. Not one.

“You’ll see me very soon, Harry,” Sirius said, and the force to which those words needed to be true rolled over him in waves. “I promise you, but—” He glanced towards Dumbledore, and then looked back at Harry, desperate for him to understand why he was going, why he was leaving him behind: that this was war, again, that Sirius must fight, again, _for_ him. “I must do what I can, you understand, don’t you?”

Harry looked at him. Sirius looked back.

“Yeah,” Harry said, swallowing. “Yeah… of course I do.”

Sirius reached out and grabbed onto his hand, squeezing it, trying with all his might to put thirteen years of unspoken words into the gesture. He did not hug Harry. He did not think either of them would be able to handle it.

Instead, he gave one last glance towards Dumbledore, and transformed, padding out of the ward, into the hallway, down and out of the castle. He broke into a furious run when he reached the grounds, not stopping until he reached the mountain cave, and, transforming back to human and flinging himself onto Buckbeak’s back, he flew from Hogsmeade and back to Yorkshire once more.

Voldemort and Wormtail, Harry, James, and Lily, all swirled through his consciousness as they flew. They were high in the sky, but Sirius did not think that was why he felt so cold.

When he touched down in Remus’ front yard, Remus was out the door almost immediately, wand alight, and the déjà vu was so preposterous, it almost would have been funny, but it wasn’t, because everything was different now.

“You’re back,” Remus said, hesitantly, like he didn’t dare to believe it.

“Yes,” Sirius confirmed, and as the image of Voldemort emerging from a cauldron flashed in his mind, he continued grimly, “And I’m not the only one.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading! 🥺 
> 
> also, if you have the funds, please check out this list of black trans rights organizations to donate to!: https://www.elle.com/culture/career-politics/a32839834/black-trans-lgbtq-organizations/


	11. Work to Be Done

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remus and Sirius prepare for the re-convening of the Second Order: Dumbledore drops in.

_June 24th- 25th, 1995  
_ _Yorkshire, England_

So. Voldemort had returned.

It was strange, how much you can expect something to happen, how much you can prepare for the inevitable, and yet when it actually happens, you still feel utter shock. Remus knew Voldemort would return eventually: it was an inevitability that Dumbledore had drilled into all of their heads since his defeat. And with all of the signs of the past year, Remus had begun to brace himself. But that did not change the way his chest seemed to cave in when Sirius said the words himself.

Sirius had arrived, wild, hair everywhere, the haunted look in his eyes accompanied by a dark acceptance, relaying words from Dumbledore in a manner harsh and blunt, and within minutes, Remus found himself numbly sending out Patronus after Patronus with the same message:

_Lord Voldemort has returned. Albus Dumbledore requests that the Order must reconvene as soon as possible. Please send word with your answer as soon as you receive this message._

He hated the form his Patronus took, a wolf phasing through the walls of his small cottage, bounding across the fields into the night, but this was the safest and fastest way to deliver information. Dumbledore himself had invented it. And the discomfort he felt at its form suddenly felt like nothing, inconsequential compared to the new horrors that Sirius was spewing.

Sirius told him everything, and Remus listened as he continued to cast the wolf across the fields. He was babbling, spiraling, and every new detail seemed to hit Remus harder than the last. His voice faltered over the charm as Sirius told him about the ghosts of James and Lily, speaking to Harry in the graveyard.

By the time Sirius had finished, Remus felt like he had aged one hundred years. He slowly lowered his wand, watching the silvery tail of the last wolf vanish beyond the horizon. And then, even more slowly, he turned away from the window, back around to face Sirius. Now that he had finally ceased talking, he looked like he would quite like to never speak again, staring at the ground as if he weren’t really seeing it.

“Well,” Remus said wearily. “Now, we wait.”

Sirius looked up from the floor. “Dumbledore is coming,” he said. “He told me he’d contact us here.”

Remus nodded.

There was a short silence, in which they both stood there, in this world where everything had changed.

Finally, Remus broke it. “How was Harry doing?” He asked, only afterwards realizing how stupid that question sounded. Sirius stared at him forcefully, and for a moment Remus was nervous he was going to say something scathing, but then he sighed, and sat down heavily on the couch.

“Well, he’s out cold now, I reckon,” Sirius said, pain flickering in his eyes. “Assuming Madame Pomphrey brought him another dozen sleeping potions after I left.”

Remus nodded. He knew those particular sorts of potions quite well from his own extensive stays in the Hospital Wing. There was another silence. And then, after hesitating, Remus asked again, rather awkwardly, “And how… are you?”

Sirius shot him a look of bewildered exasperation.

“I’m not the one who got attacked by Voldemort, Remus,” he snapped.

“I know,” Remus said quickly. “But—”

“I’m fine.”

Another silence. Remus felt regret and guilt and embarrassment bubbling up inside him, alongside every other unexplainable feeling he’d had since Sirius had arrived.

“I’m sorry,” he said. Sirius looked up at him.

“What?”

“I’m sorry,” Remus said again, trying to talk through the lump that had arisen in his throat. “For trying to— I mean, when you left—” he struggled to put what he was thinking into words, but it was quite difficult, considering he couldn’t even put what he was feeling into thoughts. “In retrospect, it was the right— I mean, I never imagined— but I’m glad that you were there for Harry—”

“Remus,” Sirius interrupted. “It’s fine.” He paused and then added dryly, “I mean, I’d say ‘I told you so’ but Voldemort’s return seems like a pretty off thing to rub in someone’s face.”

Remus couldn’t help it: his lips twitched.

“And all that security you were worried about,” Sirius added, a bit more dramatically now, clearly noticing Remus’ reaction. “Crouch and Moody, the good guys, Ministry men… trying to hunt down _dark wizards_ like me…”

“I am well aware of the irony, Sirius,” Remus said quietly, but he was relieved to see that Sirius was smiling. The air, though still heavy with the gravity of the situation, seemed to clear just a little bit.

They both turned back to the window: a warm breeze danced through, and Remus saw out of the corner of his eye that Sirius’ long hair danced with it. It was uncanny and wrong: the night sky, or perhaps by now, early morning sky, was crystal clear and scattered with stars; it seemed impossible that such a beautiful night could exist, when Voldemort was living in the world once more.

“D’you reckon everyone’ll respond?” Sirius asked. He paused, and then added conversationally, “Everyone who’s not dead, I mean.”

“We’ll have to see,” Remus replied, trying to keep his voice light despite that particular comment. “I wonder… some people may have kids, now, I suppose… families…”

“Ah, excellent thinking Moony, new recruits…”

Remus was preparing to shoot him a look of the deepest exasperation he could manage, but before he could turn, something caught his eye— something silvery returning, and it was not a wolf— it was much bigger, and moving much more gracefully, with a hardened purpose—

A white, silvery tiger leapt into the room. It sat, with an air of enormous but controlled power, and when it opened its mouth, a woman’s voice, strong and sure, echoed through the room.

_“I pledged my life to the Order of the Phoenix. That fact has not changed. I am ready whenever I am next needed.”_

“Was that—?” Sirius began.

“—Emmeline Vance,” Remus nodded, and the tiger looked at him with calm dignity before fading into the air. Emmeline Vance was one of the greatest witches of their generation— she had been five years ahead of Remus at Hogwarts, and he still remembered being a second year at James’ first Quidditch game— he had never been one for sports, but it had been hard to look away from Emmeline, a Ravenclaw Chaser— she caught every pass because she had an uncanny ability to ride her broom without using her hands. Sirius had gone off about her with such admiration that at the time, Remus had thought for sure he had a crush on her.

Until, of course, a few years later, when Sirius informed him he had never had a crush on a girl in his life, and truly did not plan on ever having one.

“Not too shabby, then,” Sirius said, impressed. “Well, we’re off to a—”

A small silver vole jumped through the wall.

 _“Albus knows he can, of course, always count upon my aid!_ ” A nervous voice wheezed from the vole’s mouth.

Sirius raised his eyebrows. “Old Doge is still around? Should he really be fighting?” Remus shot him a look as the vole dissipated.

“He’s the same age as Dumbledore,” Remus reminded him.

“Yeah but Dumbledore is _Dumbledore_ ,” Sirius snorted, waving his hand passively. “He lives outside of age. He wasn’t born and he can’t die.”

“Is that so?” Remus asked lightly. Sirius grinned at him— the first real smile of the night.

“I want you to— right now Moony— try and imagine a teenage Dumbledore.”

Remus tried. He couldn’t.

Patronus after Patronus arrived. All pledging their allegiances, some delivered in more shaking, wavering voices than others; Mundungus Fletcher’s sounded so terrified and so slurred all at once that it was hard to discern exactly what he said. But every single wolf had been answered; barring one sent to Arabella Figg, who of course, was a Squib, and could not cast one. Despite that encouraging ratio, Remus could not help but think about all of the Patronuses he hadn’t sent: Dorcas Meadows. Marlene McKinnon. Frank and Alice Longbottom. Edgar Bones. Benjy Finwick. Fabian and Gideon Prewett. Caradoc Dearborn. Lily and James Potter… and Peter Pettigrew— the only one of these names still alive…

“Voldemort gave him a new _hand_?” Remus burst out, Sirius’ story swirling back to him with no context— but it’s not like context was needed.

“Yep,” Sirius said darkly. “Hope he strangles himself with it, d’you reckon Wormy’s into autoerotic asphyxiation?”

Remus tried to smile but it came out as more of a grimace. Sirius had had thirteen years to know that Peter was a bad man. But he, Remus, had only had one to come to terms with it, and while he had to admit himself, he had felt the most crashing relief to realize that Sirius hadn’t been the murderous spy after all, it was still difficult to swallow. He had mourned Peter for years, just as he had mourned James and Lily. Why had Peter been the one to come back instead of them?

Another hot wave of guilt washed over him. Peter had escaped the night he turned into a werewolf on Hogwarts grounds, and had gone directly to Voldemort… and brought him back. If it weren’t for Peter, Voldemort would have stayed an echo, maybe forever, and Harry wouldn’t have suffered in this way…

And suddenly, there was a gentle knock on the door. Remus and Sirius made eye contact, and then Remus strode to the door, and pulled it open.

“Good morning,” Albus Dumbledore said wearily. He was shrouded in darkness but still seemed to glow: his silvery hair shone in the starlight.

“Good morning,” Remus repeated back to him, not quite knowing what else to say.

“May I enter?” Dumbledore asked softly. Remus realized he had just been standing there, in the door frame, blocking the entrance way completely. He nodded, and stepped aside, allowing Dumbledore to sweep into the building. He looked far too tall and far too regal to exist in the space with them, but he acted perfectly at home— just like he had a year ago, when he had shown up in this very room to offer the Defense position to Remus.

Sirius stood up from the couch. “Any news?” He asked harshly, not bothering to exchange pleasantries.

“I think right now,” Dumbledore said, looking at Remus. “It is I who should be asking that of you. Did you manage to contact the other members of the Order?”

“I did,” Remus said quickly. “They all replied. Everyone is willing to return.”

“Excellent,” Dumbledore said. “We also have several more whom I believe will be joining our ranks. Do either of you know Hestia Jones?”

Remus frowned. The name sounded vaguely familiar…

“She was midway through her _second_ year when she found out about the Order,” Dumbledore said, lips twitching. “From ages thirteen to sixteen, until Voldemort’s defeat, she would show up at my office once a week, and demand I let her join. Remind you of anyone?”

Remus exchanged a look with Sirius. It was exactly what they had done— James especially— but, to be fair, they had been a couple years older.

“I have sent her a message, asking if her ambitions have remained,” Dumbledore continued, not waiting for a response. “We shall see what her reply is, but I am optimistic. We also, of course, now have Molly and Arthur Weasley, and, I am fairly confident some of their eldest sons as well…”

Remus’ heart seemed to lighten a bit at this. He knew Molly— he had met her at the Prewett twins’ funeral. He liked her— after he resigned, she had sent him a letter so kind he had been choked up for hours afterwards. And while he did not know her older sons or her husband very well, he certainly knew her younger children, having taught them. Ron, of course. Fred and George, who had reminded him so much of James and Sirius that he found he had the skills to manage them. Percy, who while rather pompous and a bit stuffy, was quite skilled. And Ginny Weasley, who despite being a second-year when he taught her, had been quite motivated and shockingly quick at picking up defensive magic.

“And Severus, who will be consequential…”

“Hang on,” Sirius interrupted loudly. “ _Snape_ ’s joining the _Order_?” Dumbledore looked at him, and his face was flickering with sudden impatience.

“When I said, in the Hospital Wing, that you were on the same side, to what did you think I was referring?” Dumbledore asked. Sirius looked like he was being forced to suck on a lemon. Remus slowly made his way towards him, fearing an explosion.

“I only meant,” Sirius said, with an air of barely-restrained anger. “I didn’t realize we’d be _working_ , ah… that closely together.”

“Severus is in a unique position to provide valuable information and expertise to the Order,” Dumbledore said. “He has done so before, and he will do so again. _Both_ of you are vital to the success of the anti-Voldemort movement, albeit in different ways.” And Sirius opened his mouth again, but Dumbledore turned abruptly to Remus before he could speak. “In addition, Remus, I will request him to provide you with a steady supply of Wolfsbane Potion, seeing as in a way, you will be colleagues once more.”

Remus blinked. He had not expected that. A part of him felt like he shouldn’t accept it, but there was another part of him, rapidly growing in size, that longed for the comfort, the relief that the potion brought him. He did not hate Snape the way Sirius did; he was almost too weary for that kind of hatred, after all these years.

The promise of Wolfsbane potion seemed to render Sirius silent as well. He crossed his arms, but did not argue further.

“Thank you,” is what Remus finally settled upon. And Dumbledore gave him a small smile.

“The matter next at hand is finding a safe and secure meeting place,” Dumbledore continued. “I have learned from past mistakes: I do not want us spread out: I would prefer to have one centralized location this time. Ask around: see if anyone has anything in mind.”

“Alright,” Remus said. “We will.”

Dumbledore nodded, and straightened up. “Thank you,” he said. “For your efforts.” He turned to Sirius. “I know it meant a lot to Harry that you were there for him this past night.” Sirius shrugged in an obvious sort of way, and Remus felt another burning wave of guilt.

“I must be heading off,” Dumbledore continued. “I must meet with Severus, he ought to be back soon. I will also be preparing a formal statement addressing Voldemort’s return to the International Confederation of Wizards as well as the Wizengamot and the Ministry. There is little doubt in my mind that Cornelius Fudge will attempt to interfere, and it is important that we all plan accordingly.”

“Understood,” Remus said, vaguely wondering where Snape was that he’d be rendezvousing with Dumbledore at three in the morning. Sirius nodded, and Dumbledore turned to him, addressing him with very serious eyes.

“Continue to maintain as low a profile as you can manage,” Dumbledore said seriously. “We will revisit what that might mean in the future. For now, until we find a location for headquarters, I ask that you stay here— as long as Remus will have you, of course,” he added, looking politely at Remus.

“Of course I will have him,” Remus responded unthinkingly, and immediately felt a surge of color rush into his face at the realization of his word choice. He was not looking at Sirius’ face, but did _not_ want to imagine the expression on it. “I mean— he can stay here, he’ll be safe.”

“I daresay he will be,” Dumbledore said, and was it Remus’ imagination, or was there an extra twinkle in his eye as he said it? “Lord Voldemort is upon us again, and now is the time to trust and support one another as much as possible.” He looked very pained for a moment, but then his face relaxed, and he smiled. “I will be in contact with you both very soon.”

He turned, and swept out the door, disappearing with a sharp _crack_ into the darkness.

“Have me, will you?” Sirius said quietly, and Remus could _feel_ his smirk.

“I changed my mind,” Remus said briskly, trying to ignore the blush that was _still_ on his cheeks. “You can go bunk with Snape.”

“I just as well might,” Sirius drawled. “Seeing as according to Dumbledore, we’re now _playing for the same team_.”

“Disgusting,” Remus said lightly, and Sirius laughed.

“We should use this place for headquarters,” he said, looking at the room affectionately, and throwing himself back down on the couch.

“Ah, yes,” Remus said, rolling his eyes. “We’ll split up, half in here and the other half wedged in the bathroom. Maybe I can empty a cupboard to make more space.”

“I do love the idea of Snivellus hunched in a cupboard,” Sirius sighed wistfully. “Or perhaps we could shrink him, let him tread water in the toilet bowl…”

“Charming,” Remus grinned wearily. “But what we really need is— something—”

“Like a mansion,” Sirius agreed jokingly. “Or a castle.”

Remus frowned. “I think a castle is a bit superfluous, don’t you think?”

“You just insulted nearly every one of Britain’s oldest pureblood wizard families,” Sirius drawled, mock-toasting him. “Well done—”

And then his whole body froze, and the smile dropped abruptly from his face, which paled.

Remus stared at him. “What?” He asked.

“Fuck,” Sirius said.

“ _What?_ ” Remus demanded anxiously. “What is it?”

Sirius let out an enormous, overly-dramatic groan, and buried his face in his hands. “I know where we can establish headquarters,” he moaned into his palms. 

“Where?” Remus asked, bewildered. Sirius let his hands slide down his face, pulling his skin with it, causing the pink of his eyes to stretch out just a bit.

“My house,” he grumbled.

Remus raised his eyebrows and snorted. “That flat in London you got when we were eighteen?” He asked jokingly. “What, you think your landlord’s still hanging about waiting for your next rent payment?”

“No, Moony,” Sirius said darkly. “Grimmauld Place.”

“ _What?_ ” Remus exclaimed, in shock. He hadn’t thought about Number 12, Grimmauld Place in over a decade, but it had been the place in the world that Sirius had been most unhappy. He had always been moody and surly to them all on the first day back after terms and breaks, and it had gotten worse and worse as the years went on, until Sirius finally ran away, leaving his entire family behind, ostracizing himself from them forever. The day the Potters officially took him in, Sirius had proudly announced to the world that he was never going back. Not ever.

“It has every security measure you can imagine, it’s unplottable…” Sirius sighed. “I’m pretty sure it’s been abandoned for years… it’s huge, it’s—”

“—Full of dark magic, and you hate it there,” Remus finished for him.

Sirius shrugged. “Well, considering his _ironclad_ defense of Snape, maybe Dumbledore thinks a bit of dark magic is just what we need to defeat the Death Eaters this time ‘round— fight fire with fire, y’know?”

“You don’t mean that,” Remus said. Sirius sighed again.

“No, not really, but you have to admit Remus… it might be just the right place.”

“What about Bellatrix Lestrange?” Remus said suddenly.

“What?”

“What if it belongs to her?” Remus continued, thinking hard. “She is your cousin after all, and part of the Black family tree, so is it possible—?”

“I don’t _think_ so,” Sirius frowned. “My parents never technically disowned me, they were too ashamed of what people would say, so the house should’ve still passed down to the heir apparent— which is me,” he finished bitterly. “And considering Regulus is dead, and I’m their only surviving son… I think I’d get it before Bellatrix, and she’s in Azkaban anyways.” He paused for a moment and then added, “Besides, who knows, maybe Mum put me back on the Tapestry after the news of my arrest got out. She was probably so proud… more proud than she was of Reg, who tried to do a runner on Voldemort…”

Remus remembered Regulus Black very well. Apparently the brothers had been quite close when they were very young, but that all started to change when Sirius got sorted into Gryffindor, and Regulus to Slytherin a year later. He had died when Sirius was just nineteen— Remus, James, and Peter had been with him when he found out the news. He had not shed a tear, but nonchalantly said, “ _Stupid cowardly tosser, of course he tried to run for it… poor mum, another blood traitor for a son…_ ” And James had laughed, but Sirius had been in an awful mood for the next week, and whenever Remus had tried to talk to him about it, he had shoved him off.

_“I don’t give a bloody damn about him, Moony; we haven’t talked in over a year, and the last time we did we hexed each other. What do I care that another Death Eater went and got himself killed by his ‘understanding and benevolent master’? This is a victory, if you ask me…”_

But Remus had wondered if Sirius had been upset that Regulus had finally tried to defect, but too late. Remus had wondered if Sirius was thinking about how if maybe, just maybe, they stayed in each others’ lives, Regulus could have changed his beliefs _before_ becoming an official servant of Voldemort… but then again, maybe Sirius hadn’t thought those things at all.

“Okay,” Remus said. “But maybe we should do some research first, just to make sure, before we tell Dumbledore. Just so we _know_ we aren’t about to walk into a trap your mother laid out before she died…”

“That _would_ be just like her, wouldn’t it?” Sirius said bitterly. “I bet her casket’s on display on the kitchen table.”

“Good, you can finally get a chance to pay your respects,” Remus said dryly. Sirius stared at him, and then burst into loud, barking laughter. Remus felt a familiar flutter in the pit of his stomach at the sound.

“Alright Moony,” he said. “You win— we’ll do some _research_ first.” He chuckled, and then looked at Remus so affectionately for a moment that Remus felt butterflies erupt in his stomach. “Just like old times, huh?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Remus said, trying to maintain his composure. “I seem to recall ‘we’ doing research usually turned into _me_ doing research while you and James played pranks on Madame Pince.”

“Y’know, I still maintain that she almost used the Cruciatus Curse on us that one time,” Sirius said seriously.

“You would have deserved it,” Remus said, and Sirius grinned at him. They did not bring up the fact that Harry had _actually_ been Crucio’d by Voldemort only hours ago. The image of Harry writhing and screaming was not anything Remus ever wanted to think about ever again.


	12. The Subtle Allegiances of Wands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Providing an explanation for how on earth Sirius got a wand before the fifth book.

_June 30th,1995  
_ _Yorkshire, England_

It seemed inappropriate to describe the week after Voldemort had risen as “enjoyable,” but Sirius truly could not find any other word to use. Of course, he thought about Harry every day, and it didn’t help that the _Daily Prophet_ , as Dumbledore had suspected, had begun to publish articles with subtle but pointed remarks about the both of them. The discrediting had begun. But, Rita Skeeter had been suspiciously quiet on that front, which while rather shocking, was a small victory in itself.

Sirius would have expected to spend these days dueling Death Eaters and investigating mysterious deaths. But no more mysterious deaths had occurred, and per Dumbledore’s request, they stayed in the cottage, and poured over books, records, and legal documents, in order to figure out how they could secure Grimmauld Place for headquarters. Remus Apparated away every once in a while, returning with armfuls of old, decrepit books— _Nature’s Nobility: A Wizarding Genealogy_ , _Ancient Spells to Repel the Unwelcomed_ , _Where There’s a Will: the Laws of Magical Inheritance_ , _The Ancient Art of Cursebreaking_ — and Sirius did not enjoy reading hundreds of years old writing, and _definitely_ did not enjoy the fact that they were doing said reading for the intention to move to Grimmauld Place.

But despite all of that the week had still _…_ been _enjoyable_.

Sirius had been an excellent student at Hogwarts, but that was mostly because of his natural talent, if he did say so himself. Magic came rather easily to him, and when it came to exams, he had always been pretty good at just winging it. Remus, too, had been a good student, but for a very different reason: the boy had genuinely _loved to study._ Sirius hadn’t seen him in an academic environment since they left school, but now, with all of this genealogy, inheritance, will, and spell research they were doing, Remus almost seemed seventeen again. Sirius himself would get frustrated and bored after an hour or so, just lying on the couch with a heavy book in his hand, and Remus had come up with a way to manage that too.

_“If you can’t sit still, practice some spells, Padfoot,” Remus had said, smirking, handing Sirius his wand without lifting his eyes from the page. “Merlin knows you’re rusty.”_

And so the past week had gone like that. Sirius practicing spell after spell against Remus’ coffee table while Remus sat curled up on the couch, sucking on the end of his quill, pouring over books more ancient and less readable by the day. And Remus had seemed to have mastered the art of multitasking, managing to read Latin and make sarcastic comments about Sirius’ wandwork at the same time.

_“Why don’t you teach me then, Professor?” Sirius had taunted innocently after one such comment, batting his eyes. “Help me with my grip? Whatever happened to hands-on learning?”_

Remus had given him a look of utter disdain, but Sirius did not miss the way that simultaneously, his cheeks bloomed scarlet.

It felt so good to use magic again, even if all he was using it for was disintegrating Remus’ coffee table, and shrinking Remus’ coffee table, and setting Remus’ coffee table on fire. Every spell he cast was like scratching an itch, making him feel more alive. Remus’ wand had always felt friendly in his hand when they were kids, but now, it was more than that. He had noticed it last winter to— it was comfortable, familiar: it seemed to read his mind and obey every command— he felt _connected_ to it, nearly as much as he had to his own wand.

And it was on the last day of June that Sirius was thinking about his own wand, and finally voiced something he’d been ruminating over for a while.

“I need a wand,” Sirius announced to the room. Remus, who had been mouthing along to what looked like a particularly dense paragraph, didn’t look up from the page.

“I’ve just given you a wand, it’s in your hand,” he murmured. “Perhaps instead, you need a pair of glasses, to see it?”

“A right comedian you are,” Sirius said somberly. “I meant I’m going to need a wand of my own, unless you’re expecting me to run into battle with nothing but my fists and a dream.”

Remus put his book down, and frowned thoughtfully. “We’ll figure it out,” he said. “We can talk to Dumbledore.”

Sirius rolled his eyes. “Dumbledore’s many things, but he’s not a _wandmaker_ , Moony,” he scoffed. “I doubt even he has a personal stash of ownerless wands just lying around…” And then, all of a sudden, something occurred to him. Apparently, the realization was reflected on his face, because Remus’ frown instantly deepened.

“What?” He asked.

“My wand,” Sirius blurted, excitement building in him. “ _My_ wand, my actual wand, what if it’s in the Ministry, what if they’re keeping it somewhere?” And he was suddenly enthralled, shocked that this idea hadn’t occurred to him sooner.

“I think that’s… highly unlikely,” Remus countered hesitantly, closing the book now. “You were sentenced for life, wouldn’t they have— well— snapped it?”

“ _Maybe_ , but we don’t _know_ for sure,” Sirius exclaimed, his mind moving a mile a minute. “Maybe they kept it for— historical purposes— or something— maybe it’s still there— what if I could sneak in, as a dog—”

“Do you hear yourself?” Remus cried, half laughing, and he stood up, letting the book slide off his lap onto the couch. “Hogwarts was one thing, Sirius, but the _Ministry_? Come off it— Dumbledore told you to keep a low profile, to stay safe—”

“And d’you know how I could be even _safer_?” Sirius asked dramatically. “ _With a wand!_ ”

“What’s wrong with borrowing mine?” Remus demanded. Sirius blanched.

“Well I can’t very bloody well borrow your wand all the time!” He laughed, bewildered.

But suddenly, Remus’ face wore a very odd expression.

Sirius frowned at him— he looked like he was coming to his own sort of realization: there was a moment’s silence, in which he seemed to be having some sort of internal debate with himself, and then, quietly, he spoke.

“What if you did,” he said. Sirius blinked, confused.

“What if I did _what?_ ”

“Used my wand.”

Sirius stared, only starting to understand what he was offering and yet at the same time, not understanding anything at all. “What?”

“You can have my wand,” Remus said. Sirius gaped at him.

“Don’t be stupid,” he said, immediately.

“You said it yourself,” Remus said, infuriatingly calm. “You need a wand.”

“Right,” Sirius said loudly, impatience and bewilderment swelling inside him. “But there is that subtle fact that YOU _ALSO_ NEED A WAND!”

“No, look, look,” Remus explained, as if this insane idea had somehow been a plan from the beginning. “We both need wands, yes, and you can’t very well strut into Ollivander’s to get one, but _I_ can—”

“—Remus,” Sirius said, completely bewildered. “You can’t— I’m not— that’s not—”

“Plenty of wizards end up having to buy new wands,” Remus plowed on. “It’s not common, but it happens, and they usually report that their new ones work just as well, if not better.”

“That’s very fine and dandy,” Sirius snapped. “But _this_ wand chose _you_ , not me— it’s not going to— to want to—”

“—But isn’t it serving you?” Remus demanded, finishing the thought for him. “I know I’ve been giving you grief about your spellwork, but you’re performing excellent magic with it, you are! Do you disagree?”

“Look, all of the magic I perform is excellent, no matter the instrument, so jot that down,” Sirius retorted, but he could not argue against the fact that Remus had made a good and rather observant point. “I just— this is—”

“It’s a good plan, Sirius!” Remus interrupted impatiently, taking a step towards him. “Better than your plan, to, what, pad into the Ministry and— pee on Cornelius Fudge’s desk—”

“—Okay, well now I _really_ want to do my plan—”

“Sirius,” said Remus tiredly. “I don’t understand why you're so opposed to this.”

“Because!” Sirius cried. This was mental; he did not understand how he was being framed as the unreasonable one. “It’s too much Moony, this isn’t like— lending me robes or whatever— when we were kids _you'd_ get angry when I'd spend more than a bloody Galleon on your birthday presents— it's your bloody _wand_ for crying out loud—” And he furiously thrust his hand out, holding Remus’ wand in his fist. “Take it back,” he ordered. “Take it, I don't want it.”

“No,” Remus said calmly, staring at him.

“Take it,” Sirius growled again, and he took a step towards him.

“No,” Remus said again. Sirius felt like he was going to explode with fury. He strode across the tiny room, and Remus did not move, or even flinch, as Sirius got to him, grabbed his hand, and shoved the wand into his fingers.

“ _Take it_ ,” Sirius seethed.

“No,” Remus said a third time, and he clamped his hand around Sirius’ so the latter couldn’t let go of the wand: now they were both gripping the wand tightly, their fingers intwined around the narrow piece of wood, their faces inches apart, and Sirius was seething up at him and Remus was glowering down, and his hazel eyes were bright and stubborn, unyielding, unbendable, and Sirius _hated_ it when Remus got like this, because it didn't happen often, that Remus would stand his ground so resolutely—

A shower of golden sparks erupted from the wand. They both jumped apart in surprise, but their hands remained connected.

“Did you do that?” Sirius asked, staring at the wand, but the blood pumping through his own arm already told him the answer.

“No,” Remus said forcefully. “See? It's listening to _you_ now.” And then he let go. Sirius stared down at the wand in his hand: it was warm, and vibrating gently, as if embracing his grasp.

"Remus…" He said weakly: his brain felt dead. “This is— you can’t— Remus…”

“Just say thank you, Sirius, ” Remus said quietly. “Consider it an apology for letting you stay locked up in Azkaban all those years.”

Sirius swallowed. “I'm paying for it,” he said hoarsely. “Your new wand, I’m paying for it.” And before Remus could even open his mouth to argue, he continued, “I _know_ you probably saved your teachers salary as best you could, and that bakery paycheck— yes I know you worked at a Muggle bakery, I saw your calendar— but wands are expensive, and I have money. Loads of money. This isn’t a handout, or a gift, so don’t start: you gave me your wand, so I’m paying for it. And if you fight me on this,” he finished calmly, holding up Remus’ wand— no, _his_ wand— “I will jinx you.”

Remus stared at him and then, slowly, a small smile crept onto his lips "Alright," he conceded, "It's a deal."

_— -_

_July 1st, 1995  
_ _Diagon Alley, London, England_

And that is how, the next morning, Remus Lupin found himself entering Diagon Alley on the first day of July. The streets were busy, but not yet completely non-navigable, as he knew they would be come August. He was thankful of the timing: he couldn’t imagine entering Ollivander’s for a new wand alongside a dozen eleven-year-olds. No one seemed to pay him a great deal of mind— he thought he saw a witch staring in his direction, but when she noticed him looking, she went red and ushered her child away. It tended to happen, from time to time— people would recognize him as the werewolf who had taught at Hogwarts. But luckily, Remus had an entire life’s experience of knowing how to appear invisible. He was good at fading into the background, at fitting in: it was nice to pretend like he wasn’t different.

The bell tinkled rather ominously as Remus carefully pushed open the creaky door to Ollivander’s wand shop. He hadn’t been there in twenty-four years, but the moment he stepped onto the floorboards, it felt like no time had passed at all; the room was still small, dimly lit by only a few flickering candles— the cobwebs still hung from the ceiling like curtains of lace. And all around the shop, in an organizational method unbeknownst to anyone but Ollivander himself, were stacks and stacks of long, thin boxes: thousands and thousands of wands.

Remus stood there, gazing at it all, not quite knowing what to do with himself.

But then, the sound of footsteps.

A tiny, pale-faced, white-haired man walked curiously out from what must be the storage room— his eyes settled upon Remus, and widened with great interest.

“Well, hello,” the old man whispered.

“Erm, hi,” Remus said, fidgeting with his sleeves, feeling eleven. “Uh, I don’t know if you remember me, we met once a long ti—”

“Remus John Lupin,” Ollivander interrupted, his eyes sparkling with curiosity. “Nine-and-three-quarter inches, Hemlock, brittle, unicorn hair core. Your father cried when your wand chose you.”

He said this all very matter-of-factly, and the memory swirled through Remus’ head: how he had been nervous that no wand would choose him, how his father had burst into exhausted tears when one finally did, because it was proof, proof he belonged at Hogwarts just like everyone else. Remus felt his throat get tight.

“Right,” he said.

“But if you already possess a wand,” Ollivander continued, pale eyes almost glowing. “Then for what reason have you returned to my store?” The way he asked the question was uncanny: it was as if he already knew the answer.

“I am in need,” Remus swallowed, “Of a— a _new_ wand. If you don’t… mind.”

Ollivander fixed him with a hard stare. “I see.”

“Is that… a possibility?” Remus asked awkwardly, wondering why he had thought this would go so much more smoothly than it was currently going. Ollivander did not break eye contact, and did not seem to need to blink.

“A wand of Hemlock,” he said quietly. “Is a kind, adaptable wand, and has a nature unlike most others: it does not gravitate towards one sort of personality, but rather, can bend to compliment multiple contrasting ones. It is difficult to take, but easy to give, if it is given to the _right person_.”

“…Right,” Remus said, feeling slightly panicky. A silver tape measure floated over to him and began to measure his limbs. He wondered if Ollivander was going to ask him _why_ he needed a new wand: he’d prepared several stories just in case— it had broken, it had been taken, it had been lost… but suddenly, all of these explanations seemed flimsy, transparent, foolish. But Ollivander did not ask: again, it almost seemed like he knew.

“It is of course a possibility, having parted from your first, to obtain a second,” Ollivander said, as he glanced at the tape measure, turned around, and retrieved a box from a rickety cabinet. “Though not common, I think you will find,” he continued, opening the box and handing him a long, slim wand, “That the first is not necessarily better than the second, nor the second than the first. They are simply different. You can move onto the new, while still remembering the old.”

Remus felt rather stunned and confused, but didn’t know what in Merlin’s name to say in response. Thankfully, he wasn’t given a chance— for the wand, the wand in his hand— the wand in his hand that he hadn’t even really gotten a chance to look at, for it had just been placed there mere seconds ago— had grown warm, and glowed with a shining yellow light. It trembled happily in his palm, and a gentle breeze seemed to tickle his face. This lasted a full moment, and then faded, leaving the wand motionless in his hand. He stared at it.

“Did— did it just—” he stammered, shocked. “…Choose me?”

“Ten-and-a-quarter inches, cypress, pleasantly springy, unicorn hair core,” Ollivander said, sounding satisfied. His silvery eyes slid to meet Remus’ once more.

“But wasn’t that—” Remus felt quite bewildered. “Rather… fast? When I was a child, it must’ve taken… dozens, if not hundreds of tries!”

“Wands of Cypress,” Ollivander said simply, “Find their soulmates among the brave, the bold, and the self-sacrificing. ”

“But— but,” Remus stammered, feeling underwhelmed and overwhelmed at the same time. “This seems— I mean, I don’t know if I’d quite categorize myself as—”

“Curious; you are surprised that you could be a first choice,” Ollivander said, and it would have been blunt, but he still spoke in that curiously invasive voice. Again, Remus felt at a loss for words, but Ollivander continued, “However, I never find it useful to question the judgment of a wand.”

The exchange was clearly finished, much earlier than Remus had expected it to be. He hurriedly pulled a handful of Galleons— _Sirius’ Galleons—_ out of his pocket, and handed them to the wandmaker.

“Well,” Remus said. “Thank you. I am very grateful for your help.” And he turned to leave, but before he could, his curiosity stopped him. “I apologize,” he said, “But may I ask you one last question?”

“Indeed,” Ollivander said.

“I was wondering,” Remus ventured. “You said my wand— my old wand, a Hemlock wand, could work well for another, given they were the ‘right person.’”

“Yes.”

“Well,” Remus continued, his mouth feeling a bit dry. “I was wondering who that sort of person was.”

Ollivander smiled quite mischievously. “Someone with whom the original owner shares a profound connection with. Wands recognize relationships good and bad, but it is the strongest ones that stick with them. And, when given permission, those are the ones they may choose to pursue.”

“Oh,” Remus said, feeling like he swallowed sand. “Right. That makes perfect sense.”

“Does it?” Ollivander asked, eyes dancing. “Curious, isn’t it? The subtle allegiances of wands.”

Remus left the shop in a confusing, uncertain haze, Apparating with a crack once he had put enough distance between him and Ollivander’s pale, misty eyes. He arrived outside his cottage, head still cloudy, and let the enchantments temporarily lift as he made his way to the front door.

When he opened it, he was greeted with Sirius sitting cross-legged on the couch, grimacing at an open book: _Magical Architecture and Safety:_ _The Most Ancient Protection Spells_. The Hemlock wand was stuck behind his ear, holding back the long, thick black hair that threatened to fall across his eyes— he looked up at the sound of the door.

“Moony!” He exclaimed. “You’re back!” He grinned manically, and leapt from the couch. “Eleven years old but, wow, do you look wise beyond your years— I _do_ hope you managed to find a large enough pair of school robes—”

“Shut up,” Remus cut him off, but Sirius just grinned wider, and took several steps forward, vibrating with anticipation.

“Well?” He said impatiently. “Let’s see it, then!”

Remus swallowed, and pulled the wand from his robes, honestly eager for the chance to look at it a bit more, himself. It was a rich reddish-brown color, a bit longer than his old one, polished and new. It looked alien, but it felt… right.

“It’s…” Sirius stared at it. “…It suits you.”

“Does it?” Remus asked him.

“I think so,” Sirius said. Remus waited for him to crack another joke, but he didn’t. So, taking advantage of the silence, Remus took a step back from Sirius, raised his new wand, and pointed it into the air— he wanted a proper test.

“ _Lumos leviosa_ ,” he said. A half a dozen small, soft balls of light crept from the wand tip, and floated to surround them, suspended in the air like tiny suns. Sirius watched them, hesitated, and then pulled the wand from his ear, and pointed it amongst the lights.

 _“Lumos leviosa,”_ he echoed. The number of tiny suns doubled. They stood there, on opposite sides of the room, staring at their own wands, at the tiny lights bobbing delicately around them, at each other. And then Sirius started to laugh: he looked at the wand in his hand, and then back up to Remus’ eyes.

“I could kiss, you, Moony,” Sirius chuckled hoarsely. Remus’ throat seemed to constrict. He swallowed with immense difficulty.

“That won’t be necessary,” he replied. It could be so hard to tell when Sirius was joking.


	13. Noble and Most Ancient

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sirius and Remus vs. #12 Grimmauld Place

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this update took a bit long! i moved this weekend (during y'know, a pandemic) and it was.... hectic. future updates will be faster :)

_July 5th, 1995  
_ _12 Grimmauld Place, London, England_

They flew to London on Buckbeak, so they left well after the sunset. It wasn’t the most comfortable journey: Remus had been forced to cling to Sirius in order to avoid tumbling into the darkness below, and he focused so much on touching him in the least intimate manner possible that he developed cramps in both arms after ten minutes due to the bizarre angle he was clutching Sirius’ shoulders.

And then, minutes before they touched down, the heavens opened up and it began to pour.

Buckbeak landed on the wet, shining pavement at a gallop, but the sound of his hooves echoing down the long street could’ve been easily mistaken for the rumbling of thunder. When they came to a stop, Sirius half-slid, half fell off of the hippogriff’s back, nearly taking Remus down with him. Remus steadied himself onto the ground, his legs aching slightly, and lit his wand.

Sirius was approaching the row of townhouses, his face growing heavier with every step. Remus followed him, dripping wet; the rain was still coming down in sheets. They stopped, together, on the sidewalk between Number 11 and Number 13. Sirius glared at the space between them.

“Well,” he barked at the bricks. “I’m _home_.”

It was as if the house had heard him. There was a great roaring sound, and, as if stretched into existence, windows, a door, ancient, crumbling steps—

Number 12 Grimmauld Place stood resolute and proud, as if it had been there for an eternity. Sirius stared up at it, absolute hatred lining his face. Remus felt a sudden, powerful urge to put a hand on his shoulder, but he refrained: instead, he set to work, muttering dozens of counter-jinxes for all of the possible spells they had researched. It would hopefully make their passage in a little easier, but in the end, it all came down to Sirius’ familial blood, and whether the house rejected or accepted him.

“Well,” Sirius muttered bitterly, once Remus had finished. “Let’s go then, before we bloody drown.”

They Disillusioned Buckbeak, tied him to the fencepost (Sirius was to fly him in through his mother's balcony once they made it inside), and walked up the steps together. They stopped at the door, Sirius staring at the serpent-shaped door knocker, making eye contact with its metallic serpentine eyes. Then, his lips thin and his knuckles white, he raised his wand and tapped it against the door.

Remus held his breath.

Then, a metallic sound, clicking and tumbling, the sound of locks disengaging…

The door creaked open, just an inch. Then, it stopped.

“Very dramatic,” Sirius said cooly. He wrenched the door the rest of the way open, sending rainwater flying up at both of them, and crossed the threshold. Remus hesitated a moment, and then followed him, wand out and lit.

It was the smell that hit him first; dust, stale perfume, doxy droppings, mold, and mildew. A mouse ran across his foot and he nearly yelped.

“Good to know there’s food for Buckbeak,” Sirius muttered, pushing his sopping wet hair out of his eyes.

“Good to know that the house belongs to you,” Remus said, as they continued down the hall. “It’s quite unlikely we’d get this far if—”

But he was drowned out by a sudden, horrible, piercing scream.

He and Sirius both clapped their hands to their ears in horror, Remus nearly dropping his wand in the process. His first thought was that it must be the Caterwauling Charm, because if it was a banshee they’d both be dead— but no, he’d already cast the necessary counter-curses, and it shouldn’t have even gone off for Sirius if the house _was_ his—

But Sirius’ wandlight, which was now moving sporadically around, trying to find the cause, landed on a nearby portrait, and the source of the horrible shrieking was made clear at once.

The woman in the painting was life-size, her mouth stretched open, her eyes rolling in their sockets. Her long black hair, streaked with heavy whites and grays, fanned out around her like she was drowning. It was as if she was convulsing, and after a second of confusion, Remus realized she was looking at Sirius, and the screaming noises were actually words:

_“YOU!!!!!!!!!! YOU DARE RETURN HERE, FILTH, BLOOD-TRAITOR, DESECRATING MY HOME, COME TO STEAL THE FAMILY’S FORTUNE, DISGUSTING, INSOLENT, SHAME OF MY FLESH AND BLOOD—”_

“You’ve got to be FUCKING JOKING,” Sirius yelled over her. He turned to Remus, eyes wild with bewildered fury. “It’s my bloody _MOTHER—”_

_“I AM NO MOTHER OF YOURS, YOU ARE NOT MY SON, YOU ARE FILTH, A LEECH ON THE OLDEST AND FINEST PUREBLOOD FAMILY IN BRITAIN, A STAIN ON OUR RESPECTED AND REVERED NAME—”_

“Silence her, Sirius!” Remus cried desperately, but at the sound of his voice, Mrs. Black turned to him, and blanched.

_“YOU! I RECOGNIZE YOU! FILTHY HALFBREED, VILE PREDATOR, VICIOUS MONSTROUS SCUM, VIOLATING MY ELDEST SON, POISONING HIS MIND AND BODY—”_

“Thought you just said I _wasn’t_ your son!?” Sirius interrupted, shouting just as loud now. “YOU STUPID OLD HAG, YOU—”

“JUST SILENCE HER, SIRIUS,” Remus shouted again, as loud as he could over her continued screaming. Sirius blinked, and then, as if just remembering he was a wizard, pointed his wand at her.

 _“SILENCIO,”_ he roared. The painting fell silent: her eyes bulged and rolled back into her head, her mouth was still stretched in now-silent screeching, her arms scratched out as if she were attempting to escape the frame and attack them.

“BLOODY _FUCKING_ HELL,” Sirius yelled at nothing in particular. But Remus had other concerns.

“Your mother knows I’m a werewolf,” he said hurriedly, his ears still ringing.

“What!?” Sirius exclaimed, his face still furious. “What the bloody hell are you—”

“She called me a half-breed,” Remus continued quickly. “And a monster, so she must know—”

“What, you’re accusing— you’re saying I _TOLD HER?”_ Sirius cried furiously. “Moony how could you even _begin_ to think—”

“No!” Remus interrupted impatiently. “Of course I don’t think you told her! I’m just saying that _someone_ did, news only got out a year ago, which means it’s likely someone told her portrait, which means it’s possible that someone else has access to this house!”

And then, as if answering his concerns, there was a distinct shuffling sound— the sound of footsteps, coming towards them, but not just footsteps, no, mutterings with it, and Remus was alert but suddenly confused, for it didn’t even seem like whoever it was was even trying to sneak up on them…

“…Kreacher is hearing his Mistress in trouble, yes, and is seeing there is some nasty thieves in the house, so Kreacher will take care of them, will see to it that intruders pay, because Kreacher lives to serve the noble and most pure House of Black…”

“ _Kreacher!?_ ” Sirius spat, in utter shock. He lowered his wand light, and Remus saw a house-elf, tiny and old, with nothing but a loincloth wrapped around his waist and white hair growing out of his large pointed ears. The house-elf looked just as equally disgusted to see Sirius as Sirius looked to see him.

“Oh, but it’s my Mistress’s greatest disappointment, dripping water on the fine wood floors, Kreacher wonders why he has returned now, when my Mistress told Kreacher she no longer considered him a son, she says he is a blood traitor and a murderer…”

“Kreacher, this house belongs to _me_ now,” Sirius proclaimed, in a voice that conveyed how much he wished the house _didn’t_ belong to him. “So you have to answer to me— tell me, has anyone else been in this house since my mother died?”

Kreacher shot him a look of the deepest loathing. “He dares talk about my Mistress’ passing, without a care, nasty and cruel, it’s no wonder he was blasted off the tapestry—”

“Oh so she _did_ do that then!?” Sirius barked with hollow laughter. “I assumed as such.” Remus had no idea what on earth they were talking about, but Sirius pressed on. “I _asked_ you, has anyone been in this house since my dear old mum ate it?”

Kreacher’s face screwed up in fury. “No, no other vermin and filth has dared try and enter the most Noble House of Black, until right now of course, because now Kreacher sees vermin and filth right in front of him, and oh, how Kreacher’s poor Mistress would cry…”

“Yeah, she did cry actually, we all just heard her,” Sirius growled, as the portrait howled silently behind them. Remus took a hesitant step forward.

“Pardon me, Kreacher,” Remus said, intervening, and Sirius jumped at the sound of his voice— it was like he had forgotten he was there. “If you aren’t communicating with anyone, then where are you getting your information from?”

Kreacher’s eyes bugged out of his head. “Kreacher doesn’t have to answer to dirty werewolves, it is asking Kreacher a question, bold as brass, but Kreacher will not talk to it, no, Kreacher’s Mistress would be beside herself, filthy half-blood werewolf in her own home, and Kreacher _knows_ it had an affair with my Mistress’ blood traitor son, with its dirty diseased—”

“—SHUT UP, KREACHER,” Sirius roared. “Where are you _getting your information from_?”

Kreacher glared at the floor. “Master Phineas Nigellus visits and passes information from Hogwarts School to my Mistress and Kreacher when he pleases.” Sirius rolled his eyes.

“Of course he does.” He turned grimly to Remus. “Well, that’s even better, innit, Dumbledore’ll have a way to communicate with the Order when he’s back at school.”

“—Albus Dumbledore is a blood traitor and Muggle lover, that’s what my Mistress says—”

“Shut up, Kreacher,” Sirius said, dragging a hand across his face tiredly. “Go off to your room.” Kreacher bowed, made several rude hand gestures at Sirius’ feet, and then disappeared with a crack. Sirius turned to Remus, his features sagging. “Bloody hell, I just assumed he offed himself the second my mother died, or faded away from the grief…”

“Right,” Remus said, feeling immensely uncomfortable: he was still soaking wet, and did not want to ask how the entire Black family house seemed to know about his and Sirius’ romantic history— perhaps Regulus, back in school— but it didn’t matter—

“Well, unless any other of my family members are haunting this place, I’m gonna go get Buckbeak,” Sirius sighed. “Give a shout if Reg pops up as an Inferius, will you?” He turned and walked back outside, flipping off his mother’s portrait as he went, leaving Remus alone amongst the cobwebs.

Remus ventured forward a bit, as cautiously as he could, letting his wand travel up and down the walls. Angry portraits glowered down at him disprovingly: the light from his wand tip was reflecting into their eyes off of a large, ornate chandelier, hanging from a serpent-shaped fixture. The wallpaper was peeling off in chunks, and the carpet was so worn, he could see the wood beneath it. Everything— _everything_ — was covered in a thick layer of dust. Remus muttered counter-curse after counter-curse, just in case, waving his wand back and forth as he passed what looked like a dining room filled with cobwebs, towards a door at the very end, opposite a grand staircase. The ceilings were high, the wood dark, and real silver hung on the walls.

Sirius did not belong here.

Sirius belonged in a London flat with a mattress on the floor and a window, always open, overlooking the busy street. He belonged in a cottage by a forest, where he could transform into a dog and sprint through the trees whenever he liked. He belonged in Gryffindor Tower, on his broomstick, racing through the windows with James. He belonged on a beach, where he could rip off his robes and sprint into the water in the middle of December, butt naked, cackling like a madman. Sirius belonged somewhere where the sun lit his face and the wind blew through his hair, somewhere loud and energetic and populated and _alive_.

He did not belong in this ancient, crumbling, _skeleton_ house, encased in a hushed coffin of dark magic: it was a place where things came to die.

A sharp crash from upstairs pulled Remus from his thoughts. He heard Buckbeak make a weird half-cawing, half-roaring sound, followed by a string of elaborate curse-words that could only be Sirius. Another crash. The sound of something else falling— another string of curse-words— and then Sirius was bounding down the stairs, heaps of fabric in his arms, face grim.

“Got Buckbeak in,” he grunted as he reached the landing.

“I heard,” Remus said, feeling his mouth twitch. He gestured towards the fabric in Sirius’ hands. “What have you got there, your old dress robes?”

“Why, Moony!” Sirius cried sarcastically, clutching the fabric to his chest. “How did you know? Now that I own the place, I was thinking on planning a gala— do you think Narcissa Malfoy will show up if I ask _really_ nicely?”

“No,” Remus said.

“A shame,” Sirius sighed, and he marched over to his mother's portrait and waved his wand at the fabric— which turned out to be curtains that placed themselves upon Walburga Black’s silent, screaming, painted face, obscuring her from view. Sirius stepped back for a moment, surveying his handiwork, before abruptly aiming his wand at it again and, out of nowhere, he began furiously screaming curse after curse—

“ _DIFFINDO! ABSCIDO!_ You stupid, evil _— SEPARATUM! DIRIMIUM! REDUCT—”_

“—Oooookay!” Remus interrupted, grabbing Sirius’ wand arm before he could blast the wall apart. Sirius was breathing rather hard: Remus quite felt the need to hold him back, nervous that he’d launch himself at the portrait and start beating it with his fists. “I think the curtains are enough.”

“You might,” snarled Sirius. “I want her down.”

“It’s highly likely that there’s a Permanent Sticking Charm on it,” Remus said, moving as close to the portrait as he dared, still holding Sirius back with one hand. “But,” he added, at the look on Sirius’ face, “We can try again tomorrow, before the meeting, okay? When it’s light.”

“It never gets light in this house,” Sirius muttered, but he stopped resisting, and deflated. They stood there for a moment, Sirius staring moodily at the floor. Remus hesitated, but broke the silence— it was clear that Sirius needed to _do_ something, anything, other than brood in front of his mother’s painting.

“Should we… get a look around?” Remus offered hesitantly. “Make sure there aren’t any more… surprises?”

“…Yeah,” Sirius growled. “Might as well get it over with. Although if Kreacher’s preserved my parents’ heads in a jar, I think I’d rather not know.”

“But would you really consider that a surprise?” Remus asked, tentatively joking. He was relieved to see the corners of Sirius’ mouth lift upwards, even if it was just by a fraction.

They started with the dining room, which consisted of a long wooden table, an overly ornate dresser, and light fixtures that each looked like they were worth thirty times more than Remus’ cottage. The lights sputtered to life when they waved their wands, but the dresser seemed to be stuck shut with cobwebs too thick to have come from a normal-sized spider.

They moved downstairs, to the basement: there was a large kitchen, a pantry, and a boiler room that was shut so tightly they didn’t even attempt to open it. The kitchen housed an impressively large table, upon which chairs were stacked, and there was a cavernous fireplace at one end. Sirius looked around the room distastefully.

“‘Spose we’ll meet in here,” he muttered.

“What’s wrong with the spider-infested dining room?” Remus asked innocently.

“Every room in this house is infested with something,” Sirius replied. His voice was quite hollow again: monotonous.

“Shall we clean this one a bit, then?” Remus suggested tentatively. It was something to do, after all. “The meeting’s first thing tomorrow— we should probably… dunno, dust, rearrange the furniture a bit?”

“Yeah,” Sirius sighed. “That chair’s awfully close to the boiler room, if Snape sits there he might accidentally start a grease fire.”

In tandem, they waved their wands: the dust dissipated from the table, the countertops, the surfaces of pots and pans. The chairs rearranged themselves around the table in perfect symmetry.

“There,” said Sirius. “Good as new.”

It was very much not at all ‘good as new,’ but perhaps it was best to move on.

They went up to the first floor, and then up the grand staircase. Remus’ wand illuminated the wall and he felt quite like he wanted to throw up: lining the stairs, rising as they did, along the wall, were numerous stuffed house-elf heads, mounted, on display.

“Oh that's permanent too,” Sirius said bitterly, waving his hand. “You’ll get used to it.” But Remus was quite positive that he would not.

The second floor had a bathroom, a bedroom, and a drawing room. The drawing room, in particular, was going to need a lot of work: the curtains were clearly full of doxies, the writing desk was shaking (it most likely housed a boggart), and the cabinets were full of vials containing substances that looked suspiciously like blood, along with snakeskin, scales that were quite definitely cursed, and a few potions that Remus was fairly sure were illegal in several countries. The large windows were still rather beautiful, though, and as Remus peered through them (trying to avoid the doxy-filled curtains), he noticed a reflection in the glass: one of the walls had a large ornate tree spanning the entire surface of the wallpaper.

Sirius, however, made an impatient noise from the door, so Remus didn’t dwell on it. They peered into the bathroom just to ensure none of Sirius’ ancestors pulled a Moaning Myrtle and decided to haunt the toilet, and then made their way to the bedroom. It was just as dilapidated as any other room, the twin beds covered in thick heaps of dust. Sirius glared at an empty portrait on the wall.

“Hey, Phineas, you awake?” Sirius barked. The blank canvas made a sound like a very exaggerated yawn. Sirius scowled at it. “Great. Stop gossiping with Kreacher and my mother, or I’ll blast you off the wall.” And without waiting for a response, he marched out of the room, Remus following hurriedly after him.

The fourth floor housed another bathroom, as well as _three_ other bedrooms. Remus was very much thinking that it was a shame the Blacks hadn’t had a Weasley-sized family, as they certainly had the room for it, before immediately deciding that perhaps this was a family tree that didn’t need any more branches. Besides, Buckbeak had seemed to taken quite a liking to Sirius’ mother’s room— he was curled up on top of a completely collapsed bed when they peered in. Well, now Remus knew the source of the earlier crash.

After opening and immediately closing a cupboard absolutely riddled with mold, there was another staircase to go. One that made Sirius hesitate a bit before venturing up.

“Is this the attic?” Remus asked cautiously as they climbed.

“Nope,” Sirius muttered. “That’s one more above.”

They reached the landing. Two doors, that was it. On one of them, hung a sign that read ‘ _Do Not Enter Without the Express Permission of Regulus Arcturus Black’_. And the other…

Sirius pushed the other door open, and entered his childhood bedroom.

He stood there, in the doorway, just looking at it, and then, after clearly steeling himself, he stepped in. Remus waited a moment, and then followed him.

The room was fairly large: big enough to contain an enormous wooden bed and a gigantic walk-in wardrobe. The headboard of the bed was ornately carved, and the dust didn’t quite hide the thick red comforter that was still spread haphazardly on the mattress. There was a pillow on the floor, and three others scattered along the bed, tangled in bedsheets. A candle-covered chandelier hung from the ceiling the center of the room. But it was hard to focus on any of the furniture, because the walls were papered with posters, photos, red-and-gold Gryffindor banners— Remus smiled at the several pictures of motorcycles, and then noticed a few magazine covers of bikini-clad Muggle girls.

“Wow,” Remus said, gesturing towards one. “Tasteful.”

“Thank you,” Sirius said, in mock-politeness.

“Your parents must have loved this.”

“Well,” Sirius smirked. “My _parents_ were displeased that I seemed completely uninterested in all of the pureblood girls they paraded around me. They wanted me to appreciate women _romantically_ , you know. So I said I would, and hung these.” He smirked wider, and gestured to another scandalous poster. “Oh, and _poor_ mother was so preoccupied with the sin and shame of these Muggle ladies permanently stuck to my wall that she seemed to miss the fact that I was actually, in fact, stone cold gay.”

“A shame,” Remus joked. “If she had known, she might have set you up with a nice pureblood _boy_ … Avery perhaps… Mulciber…”

“Well, I wouldn’t have gone for them either, would I?” Sirius said softly. Remus’ pulse skipped. Fearing that he would go red, he quickly looked for something, anything to move the conversation along— and noticed something moving on the wall, the only wizarding photo in the room. He strode to it, quickly.

It was the four of them, the Marauders— arm in arm, laughing at the camera, James and Sirius in the middle, Remus on James’ left, and Peter on Sirius’ right. They all looked so happy. So, so _happy_.

“When was this taken?” Remus asked. He did not remember it.

“Fourth year,” Sirius said, joining him. “Last day. Marlene McKinnon took it.”

“Oh,” Remus said, and the memory flooded back to him— he remembered— he and Sirius both had arms around James, Sirius’ had rested on top of Remus’, and once the picture was over, as they disengaged, their hands had fallen together, for one second, just brushing each other, which would have been nothing except for he could have sworn that Sirius hooked their pointer fingers together, on purpose, for a millisecond before bounding towards Marlene and demanding to see the finished photo… to think, they’d finally confessed their feelings, out loud, less than a year later… and to think, Marlene would be killed six years later… James not long after…

“Well,” Remus said, swallowing. “Maybe we should head to the attic.”

“Let’s save it for tomorrow,” Sirius responded shortly. “The only one who’d wanna go up there is Kreacher.” And he turned from the photo and began to siphon the dust out of his bed with his wand.

“Um, alright,” Remus said awkwardly. “You’re right, we— we should both get some sleep. If you stay here, I can take one of the beds downstairs—”

“Are you mental?” Sirius snorted. “I am not sleeping alone in my sad little childhood bedroom.”

“Alright,” Remus sighed. “Well, why don’t I sleep here then?”

“I don’t want you alone in here either,” Sirius scowled, looking around the room uncomfortably.

“…Okay,” Remus said, a bit impatiently. “Well then, there are literally one hundred beds downstairs—”

“Yes, and Kreacher has probably slept in all of them for years, sniffing up the remnants of dark wizard night-sweat.”

“Well then, what do you suppose we do, sleep outside?” Remus demanded wearily. But Sirius looked at him, just looked at him, and then, without answering, he sat down upon his bed, and gently laid his hand on the empty spot next to him.

Remus understood what he was offering— or perhaps, asking for— at once. He felt color flood his cheeks, and suddenly, he was a bit dizzy—

“I—” Remus began, and then did not know how to finish. Sirius stared up at him, and his eyes were pleading.

“Just for tonight,” Sirius said hoarsely. And Remus knew what was going on, even though Sirius wouldn’t say it, which was that he couldn’t be alone, all alone in this house, this place that he hated more than any place in the world, a place where he had been imprisoned long before actually going to Azkaban. And so, Remus ignored his pounding heart and tumbling stomach, swallowed, and walked around to the other side of the bed. He sat down. Sirius was staring at him, never looking away. Neither of them said a word.

Neither of them said a word as they removed their shoes. Neither of them said a word as they lay down, separated by at least a foot, but still side by side. Neither of them said a word as they pulled up the quilt.

And then, Sirius broke the silence with a barely audible _“Nox,”_ and they were plunged into darkness. They lay there for a minute, listening to the rain pound against the roof, and Remus felt like his whole body was crackling with electricity— he was so far away, far away, he was trying to occupy as little space as he possibly could, he was nearly falling off the edge, but if he wanted to, if he truly wanted to, he could have reached out sideways and touched Sirius’ hand.

“Thank you,” Sirius whispered into the darkness.

“You’re welcome,” Remus breathed, staring resolutely at the ceiling.

When he woke up the next morning, Sirius was wrapped around him from behind, one arm loosely draped around Remus’ waist, one leg cradled gently within Remus’ own. After the initial shock, Remus felt an eerie, too-comfortable sense of calm, and realized he could have laid there, like that, forever. And what if he did? What if he waited, waited for Sirius to wake up, and find himself in this position?

But Remus was not that brave, and not that bold.

Instead, he gently removed Sirius’ limbs from his body, as carefully as he could, and slid off the side of the bed, leaving Sirius lying there, arms splayed and empty, very much alone.


	14. The Phoenix’s Order

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first meeting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> before this starts, just wanted to say an enormous thank you to everyone who's been commenting. it means more to me than you'll ever know. :) so thank you, thank you, thank you. and apologies for the constant angst. i promise happiness will come. (eventually)

_July 6th, 1995  
_ _12 Grimmauld Place, London, England_

Sirius woke up to the sound of a door creaking shut.

For a moment, he forgot where he was: why was the surface he was lying on so soft, why was the space next to him so warm, as if someone else had been sleeping there, beside him—?

His eyes flew open as he remembered. The faint morning light, if you could even call it that, shone weakly through the windows, illuminating only floating pieces of dust and the subtle outline of furniture, but it was a sight forever burned into his brain: he was in his bedroom, he was in Grimmauld Place, right. And somehow, he had ended up on the opposite side of the bed that he had started on.

He heard the slow footsteps of someone going down the stairs— Remus— and sat up so quickly that he felt dizzy. He was still in his robes from yesterday— they smelled faintly of rain, and he nearly slipped over them as he made his way out the door and onto the landing.

“Moony?” He called blearily. He couldn’t remember the last time he had gotten this much sleep, or slept so well: it was leaving him in a sort of comfortable haze, which was surprising, considering the awful location and associated memories. He padded softly down the stairs, trying to catch up with Remus, who already sounded like he was several floors below.

He finally reached him on the top of the staircase, on the second floor: he was motionless on the first step, staring down at one of the ridiculously ornate chandeliers, seemingly lost in thought.

“Hey,” Sirius yawned, joining him. “Performing Legilimency on the light fixtures?”

Remus jumped about a foot in the air, and turned around to face him, shocked. “Hi,” he said, his voice strangely a little higher than normal. “I just woke— I— uh, how… how did you sleep?”

“Like a baby, actually,” Sirius said truthfully. Remus was looking a bit pink for some reason, and the left side of his hair was sticking up in bizarre tufts— bedhead— but he seemed quite alert, which was the opposite of how Sirius felt right now.

“That’s good,” Remus said, his voice still a little high. He hesitated, as if he was going to add something, but then seemed to change his mind on what exactly that something was, and settled on, “We’d better get ready, I assume everyone will be arriving soon.” He started down the stairs, and Sirius followed him as he talked. “I informed everyone arriving of the spells and jinxes they’ll need to undo when they arrive, and I don’t foresee any trouble, especially if Dumbledore gets here fir—”

“Good morning,” spoke a pleasant voice.

Sirius and Remus both jumped a bit— Albus Dumbledore was standing at the foot of the stairs, smiling up at them.

“My deepest apologies— it was not my intention to startle you,” He continued, when neither of them said anything. “How was your night?” Sirius noticed his eyes seemed to twinkle a bit at the question.

“It was fine,” Remus answered, and his voice sounded strangely high and loud again. “I’m sorry we— I didn’t realize it was so late—”

“Not to worry,” Dumbledore placated him, waving his hand. “If you had remained sleeping, I would have found ways to entertain myself, I’m sure.”

“Entertainment in this house would probably leave you with irreversible curse damage,” Sirius scowled. Dumbledore actually chuckled— and Sirius couldn’t help but just _stare_ at him, standing there in the middle of the dark, rotting hallway, in bright purple robes and a tall, pointed purple hat, twinkling up at them over his half-moon spectacles, looking perfectly at ease in a house that actively hated everything he stood for.

“Well,” Dumbledore said. “I have temporarily removed as many curses as I could, but as soon as everyone arrives, I would like to recast them immediately, as well as— with your permission, Sirius— perform the Fidelius Charm.” Sirius felt like a bolt of lightning passed through him.

“The Fidelius Charm?” He repeated, stomach twinging. “On the house?”

“Yes,” Dumbledore said. “I, and do forgive the presumption, think I am best suited to be Secret-Keeper, unless anyone has objections, of course.”

Sirius shot a look at Remus, wondering if he was thinking the same thing Sirius was: the Order didn’t exactly have a great track record with the Fidelius Charm, but then again, they had chosen the wrong person last time. Dumbledore had wanted to be the Potters’ Secret-Keeper to begin with, but James had turned him down in favor of Sirius, who in turn, had suggested disgusting, traitorous, cowardly Peter—

“I have no objections,” Remus said quietly.

Sirius sighed, but added, after a moment, “Me neither.”

“Excellent,” Dumbledore said, satisfied. “I shall run it by the rest when they arrive— oh, but I believe I hear—”

The doorbell rang, a loud clanging through the house, and then, before Dumbledore could even turn towards the door, there was an explosion of screaming.

_“WHO DARES COME CALLING ON THE HOME OF OUR MOST PURE FAMILY, WITHOUT PERMISSION, MORE BLOOD TRAITORS IS IT, HE IS TRYING TO POISON THE WHOLE HOUSE, AN INVASION, AN INFLUX, OF WICKED, UNCLEAN—”_

Sirius was down the stairs, tearing past Dumbledore before the latter could even begin to move. He launched himself at his mother’s portrait, pulling at the curtains with as much strength as he could muster, but they did not seem to want to close.

 _“YOU!”_ She screamed down at him. _“SHAME OF MY FLESH, TRAITOR OF OUR NOBLE FAMILY, INTRUDER, THIEF, SLEEPING WITH FILTH IN A HOME YOU ABANDONED, YOU HAVE NO RIGHT, OPENING THIS HOUSE TO YOUR FELLOW SCUM—”_

“SHUT UP YOU OLD COW!” Sirius screamed, and then Remus was by his side, and together, they yanked the curtains shut, nearly falling over in the process. Panting, Sirius suddenly realized Dumbledore was standing with them, face betraying nothing but polite interest.

“Madame Walburga Black, I presume?” He asked Sirius.

“Yeah,” Sirius grunted. “We oughta tell people not to ring the doorbell, she’ll have a bloody conniption every time someone so much as—”

“—We will refrain from disturbing her,” Dumbledore interrupted, smiling slightly. Sirius scowled, and gave the curtains a jab for good measure, as Remus answered the door, leading in an excited- looking Dedalus Diggle.

“Hello,” he squeaked to all of them. “I do apologize for being early!” He shot Sirius a frightened look, but managed to keep smiling. He was barely over five feet tall, and looked exceptionally tiny next to Remus and Dumbledore.

“Hello Dedalus,” Dumbledore said warmly. “I hope you are well.”

“I am quite alright, given the circumstances!” Diggle trilled, taking off his large purple top hat with a flourish, revealing dark brown, thinning hair. Sirius fought the urge to snort. He had always found the tiny wizard a bit much, and him standing here, his ridiculous top hat the exact color of Dumbledore’s robes, was almost pushing him over the edge.

There was a knock at the door this time, and Sirius excused himself from the chattering Diggle to go open it— he ended up face to face with Emmeline Vance.

She was an inch taller than he was, wearing long black robes and a stately green shawl around her shoulders. Her thick black hair was tied back in numerous small braids, creating elegant knots around her head.

“Emmeline,” Sirius said.

“Hello, Black,” she responded, and then gave him a small smile. “It’s been quite a while.”

“Time flies when you’re in Azkaban,” Sirius shrugged.

“I find that hard to believe,” Emmeline said. “May I come in?” Sirius stepped aside to let her sweep down the hall to join Dumbledore, Diggle, and Remus. She inclined her head at him as she passed, and stared up and down the portraits as she went with sharp, curious eyes.

Another knock at the door, this time a rather rapid one. Sirius opened it again, to a young, medium height witch, with determined black eyes, long, shiny black hair in a single plait, and bright, rosy cheeks— it was a face he didn’t completely recognize. “Erm, hello,” he said.

“You’re Sirius Black,” the witch said, a bit quickly, a bit nervously.

“Sure am,” Sirius responded.

“Um— I’m here for the meeting,” she continued, and her voice steadied as she straightened herself with pride. Sirius resisted the urge to say something sarcastic like _“Oh, the meeting for Gobstones Club?”_ and instead stepped aside with a dramatic flourish to let her past. She walked in with great purpose, and Sirius heard Dumbledore greet her with enthusiasm.

“Miss Jones!” He cried. “Thank you for coming.”

“I would have come whether you invited me or not,” the witch said in response, and Sirius decided that maybe he could grow to like her.

“I daresay you, of all people, would have tracked us down,” Dumbledore chuckled. Sirius peered out the door to see if anyone else was coming, and then closed it and joined them all in the middle of the hallway. It was an odd grouping, Dedalus Diggle bowing deeply to the newcomer, sweeping off his top hat yet again; Emmeline Vance standing tall and powerful; this new witch, resolute, but still smiling as if she had won the lottery; Dumbledore, twinkling at them all; and Remus, just standing there, smoothing down his bedhead that he must’ve just realized he had— all of them grouped together in Sirius’ childhood home.

“Moony,” Sirius muttered to Remus. “Get them all down in the kitchen, will you? My mother’s gonna wake up again.”

“Right,” Remus said. He hesitated, glanced at the rosy-cheeked witch, and then countered, “Actually, why don’t I answer the door, it might be— I mean—” But Sirius understood what he was trying to say: some of these people had only _just_ been told by Dumbledore that Sirius was not, in fact, the one who had betrayed the Order fourteen years ago, and his face, the face that had been splashed across posters with the words ‘MASS MURDERER’ atop them, might be a bit unsettling to see right out of the gate.

“Right you are, mate,” Sirius said, in a falsely cheery voice, and led the rest of them downstairs.

The next ten minutes were a bit of a chaotic blur. More and more people made their way into the room, and every old face was a bit of a shock to Sirius’ system.

Elphias Doge showed up next, in a pointy hat that did nothing to hide his eccentric, dandelion shaped white hair, and greeted Dumbledore with so much revered enthusiasm that Sirius was surprised he didn’t stop to his knee and propose. Sturgis Podmore arrived after that: thick blonde hair, square jaw, handsome as ever, and greeted them all good naturedly, including Sirius, who was glad at the interruption, as Doge had come over to him and begun apologizing profusely for ever suspecting that he was the spy who had led to James’ and Lily’s murder. Podmore moved onto Emmeline, who greeted him with a hug— Sirius had forgotten they had been friends at Hogwarts, and used to play Quidditch against each other: Emmeline the Ravenclaw Chaser, Sturgis the Gryffindor Keeper— he had never been able to block even a single one of her goals.

The next arrival caused quite the commotion. The sounds of someone stumping angrily into the hallway above was followed almost immediately by a loud, suspicious series of growling words, which was, of course, followed by Sirius’ mother’s shrieking. Sirius stared at a fork lying on the floor, wondering if it would be impolite to gouge out his own eyes in front of company, but the shrieking stopped after a moment, and Mad-Eye Moody thumped down the stair, wand out in front of him as if prepared for a duel.

“Good morning, Alastor,” Dumbledore said pleasantly. Moody fixed his magical eye on the Headmaster and gave him a grizzled frown.

“When was the last time we saw each other?” He barked suspiciously.

“Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry,” Dumbledore said calmly. “The final feast of the term. You left that very night.”

“Damn right I did,” Moody snarled, and turned his eye on the rest of them, his wand following his gaze. “Everyone here been vetted?”

“There’s a jinx on the house,” Sirius said, bored. “One we didn’t lift. Imposters can’t come through, they’ll be revealed.”

“You think I trust a hundred-year-old jinx?” Moody barked. “What was your cell number in Azkaban?”

The entire room seemed to turn to stare at Sirius.

“Ninety-seven,” Sirius growled back.

“And who was imprisoned in the cells next to you?” Moody continued, not holding back. 

“Alastor,” Dumbledore interrupted forcefully. “I am confident that everyone in this room is exactly who they appear to be.” Moody swiveled his eye back to him, scowled, and sat down in a free chair, taking a swig from his hip flask. The conversation in the room slowly but surely began again, but Sirius did not miss the curious little glances both Hestia Jones and Elphias Doge sent his way.

It did not help Sirius’ mood that the next person to arrive was Severus Snape.

The kitchen door creaked open, and he skulked in, his hair in dark greasy curtains, swinging across his soulless eyes and hooked nose. He looked around the kitchen in obvious disdain, as if he were wishing the cruelest of deaths upon every person in it. Sirius was on his feet before he even registered what he was doing, nearly elbowing Dedalus Diggle in the jaw— the sudden movement made Snape catch sight of him, and his lip curled.

However, in less than a second, Dumbledore was between them, greeting Snape as if it were his own home. Sirius, though, was slightly satisfied to see some of the others were looking at him warily: Emmeline Vance, in particular, was regarding him with a sort of cold indifference that made Sirius feel slightly more cheerful. Snape exchanged a few quiet words with Dumbledore, and then swept his way farther into the room.

As he passed Sirius, who was still standing, he sneered, “Lovely house, Black.”

“You would like it, wouldn’t you,” Sirius retorted under his breath, feeling murderous. “Feel at home amongst all the dark magic, I presume?” Snape didn’t answer, but merely glided to the other side of the table and sat down, interlacing his fingers and sitting menacingly still. Elphias Doge whispered something to Dumbledore, but the latter held a hand up to stop him, looking firm.

A few newcomers poured in, people Dumbledore must have reached out to privately. First came Lavanya Patil, a beautiful and good-humored middle-aged witch who had Sturgis Podmore laughing within minutes of her entry; then, Gregor Wright, a wizard in his mid-twenties, who had short thick brown hair, a cropped beard, and a rather serious demeanor. Following him came Hamza Rasheed, a rather kind looking wizard whom Sirius recalled had been a Hufflepuff one year below him— he had been in Regulus’ year. Then Adrian Pine, with dreadlocks pulled back behind their shoulders and robes of deep blue— they had been in Ravenclaw, in Sirius’ own year. Then came Patricia Glenn, an older witch with a thick Scottish accent, large glasses, and curly gray hair that fell down to her waist. They all mingled curiously— Sirius felt another small twinge of satisfaction at the dubious looks Hamza Rasheed and Adrian Pine shot towards Snape— they had been close in age at school with him too, after all, and must be wondering, like Sirius, why in Merlin’s name he of all people had decided to join the Order.

Mundungus Fletcher traipsed in, nearly a half an hour later, his large coat tinkling with the sounds of hidden vials, and when he reached up to shake Dumbledore’s hand, a shower of Sickles rained out of his coat sleeve. But he was, surprisingly, not the last to arrive. No, the last to arrive were the Weasleys, and Sirius knew it was them because of the sheer number of overlapping voices that could be heard before Walburga Black began screaming, yet again.

“ _FILTH,_ _RED HAIRED WEASELS, I’D KNOW THEM ANYWHERE, BLOOD TRAITORS, MUGGLE LOVERS, MOCKING THE PUREBLOOD LINEAGE, HOW DARE YOU ENTER MY SACRED HOME, IMPOVERISHED SCUM—”_

 _“_ BLOODY HELL, WHAT THE FU _—”_

 _“—_ DON’T YOU FINISH THAT SENTENCE YOUNG MAN _—”_

_“— THERE’S THE MOTHER, EVERY ONE OF HER CHILDREN REEKING OF DIRT, RAISED BY BLOOD TRAITORS, THEY ALL MIGHT AS WELL BE MUDBLOODS—”_

_"_ MOLLY, ARTHUR— APOLOGIES—”

“PROFESSOR!”

“PROFESSOR LUPIN? BLIMEY, WHAT IN MERLIN’S NAME—”

“HELLO FRED— GEORGE— WOULD YOU MIND— THE CURTAINS, PLEASE— PULL THEM TOWARDS ME—”

The sound of grunting, and then the screaming stopped, for what Sirius hoped was the final time that day. There was the thunderous sound of many footsteps, and then the door opened, and what seemed like almost the entire Weasley family tumbled onto the scene.

Remus was next to Molly, whose smile looked rather strained, and Arthur Weasley— her husband, Sirius recognized him from photos— who also looked to be in quite a foul mood. Sirius recognized Bill, one of their older sons, from the Hospital Wing the night of the Third Task, and of course, there was Ron, smushed up against Hermione Granger, who was staggering under the weight of an enormous rucksack. On Hermione’s other side was who seemed to be the only daughter of the family, a girl with fierce brown eyes and long, fiery red hair. There were two more boys, who looked a bit older than Ron, that were perfectly identical, and were snickering about something with each other, but stopped once they entered the room.

“Hello Molly, Arthur,” Lavanya Patil called, waving from across the room. Molly nodded towards her, her forced smile straining even more— Sirius noticed her eyes looked rather red. Meanwhile, Ron and Hermione were staring nervously at Snape, and Sirius fought back a laugh. He had agreed to let the Weasleys stay at Grimmauld Place for the summer— it’d be easier for organizational purposes, and plus, although he didn’t know them very well, it had got to be better than spending every night alone with just Kreacher for company.

“Alright,” Dumbledore announced. “The meeting shall commence soon.” He turned to the Weasleys. “Molly—” he started, but she turned to her younger children at once as if she read his mind.

“Right,” she said briskly. “All of you— like we discussed— up you go.”

“But we just got here,” one of the twins argued.

“I told you,” Molly said angrily. “You’re much too young to be involved in these meetings, it’s far too dangerous. Go on, upstairs.”

“And what, have a spot of tea with that screaming hag, are you mental?” the other twin exclaimed.

“Don’t speak to your mother like that,” Arthur said curtly. “Do what you’re told.” Sirius frowned as the twins exchanged a dark look. He didn’t see why they weren’t allowed in the meeting; it wasn’t like Voldemort had a moral code against harming school-aged wizards.

“What’re we supposed to do, just— sit in the hallway?” Ron asked dubiously.

“You can choose your bedrooms,” Sirius answered him, dryly, from the table. “Fair warning, though, they’re probably full of doxies and, y’know… poison.”

The twins’ faces split into identical, maniacal grins. “Brilliant,” they said in unison, and without another word, they Disapparated with a loud _crack_. Molly let out a frustrated exclamation towards the spot where they had vanished.

“Mum,” the daughter muttered. “I don’t see why we can’t—”

“Do not argue with me, Ginny, not today,” Molly barked, turning back around to face her daughter, and Ginny crossed her arms, but did not try and retort. Instead, she trudged up the stairs, scowling. Hermione and Ron turned to follow her, but stopped when Dumbledore suddenly called to them.

“Miss Granger, Mr. Weasley,” he said, pleasantly. They both turned to face him in surprise, and he continued, “I would like to have a word with the two of you when the meeting is over, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course,” Hermione said, a bit breathlessly. She and Ron exchanged dubious looks, and then followed after Ginny, up the stairs from the kitchen. Sirius wondered what on earth Dumbledore wanted to talk with them about— something to do with Harry, it had to be, right?

Once the door closed, a silence seemed to fall upon the room. Everyone turned to Dumbledore.

“Let us begin,” he said softly.

They all filed into the seats around the kitchen table: Remus sat down on Sirius’ right, Emmeline on his left. Dumbledore himself sat serenely at the head of the table, and pressed his fingertips together, surveying the scene over his half-moon spectacles. Once the scraping of chairs had ceased, he cleared his throat.

“First of all,” he began. “I would like to thank you all for coming. Some of you are rejoining us after many, many years; some of you are joining us for the first time. I want to acknowledge the bravery and sacrifice of every single person in this room, many of whom are taking enormous risks by sitting here today.” Sirius noticed Dumbledore’s eyes flit towards Snape and his mouth suddenly tasted sour. He refocused on Dumbledore, who was still talking.

“I would also,” Dumbledore continued, “like to thank Sirius Black for providing us with proper headquarters. In the past, the Order has been scattered and remote, leading to easy ambush and miscommunications that could have been prevented. Sirius, who himself was wrongfully accused of betraying this very group, is the reason we are now able to be back together, safely, in one place.”

“Hear, hear,” Remus whispered under his breath in Sirius’ ear, in such an uncharacteristically good impression of James that Sirius almost laughed. Snape glared from across the table at the both of them.

“On that topic,” Dumbledore went on, “It is my belief that in addition to the extensive security already in place, we ought to perform the Fidelious Charm on the house, immediately. If no one has any objections, I will take on the duty of Secret Keeper.”

Nearly everyone nodded.

“Excellent,” Dumbledore said, satisfied, and pulled out his wand. “Sirius, if you would?”

“Right,” Sirius grumbled, standing up. “My house.” He pulled out his wand, placing the tip against Dumbledore’s. Dumbledore looked down at it, and his eyes twinkled with curiosity. Sirius felt his face grow hot, and could almost _feel_ Remus turning scarlet behind him: Dumbledore almost definitely knew what Remus’ wand looked like. Thankfully, however, he did not say a word about it, and instead, opened his mouth as if to start the spell— Sirius hurried to catch up.

“ _Fidelium Incipio_ ,” they said, in unison, and the tips of their wands began to glow. Dumbledore’s bright blue eyes gazed into Sirius’, and then he spoke.

“Are you Sirius Orion Black, the owner of Number 12 Grimmauld Place, London, England?”

“I am,” Sirius said dully: he suddenly felt a bit ill— the last time he had witnessed this charm, James had been in his place, and Peter in Dumbledore’s. Remus shifted behind him, almost as if he was moving closer, and Sirius steeled himself to hold steady: his wand was growing warm.

“And Number 12, Grimmauld Place, London, England: will it be henceforth known as the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix?”

“It will,” Sirius murmured. The wands began to hum in tandem.

“The headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix must be protected. Therefore, the whereabouts of Number 12, Grimmauld Place, London, England must be made unknown, in sight, in sound, in touch, in taste, in smell. Do you agree?”

“I do,” Sirius said. The wands began to shake. It was a difficult spell— a _very_ difficult spell— Sirius could already feel his energy depleting.

“In order for the location to be made known, there must be one person to harbor the secret,” Dumbledore whispered.

“Yes,” Sirius said. “And I have chosen you, Albus Percival— erm— Wulfric… Brian? Dumbledore. Is that your name?”

“It is,” Dumbledore said, lips twitching at Sirius’ obvious stammering. There were a couple of small chuckles around the table, which helped break the tension a bit.

“Therefore, do you consent to being the Secret-Keeper of Number 12, Grimmauld Place, London, England, the Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix?” Sirius asked. He was surprised how much the exact language, exact wording, had stuck with him all those years. The wording he and James had practiced together, laughing at the formality of it all, before Sirius had looked over at Peter, and had a sudden idea…

“I do,” Dumbledore said.

“Do you understand that by being the Secret-Keeper, the whereabouts of this location will be unknowable to every person except yourself, lest you choose to voluntarily divulge it to another through verbal, written, or physical means?”

“I do.”

“Do you understand that no person, creature, being, plant, curse, or potion can force you to involuntarily divulge this information, though they may try?”

“I do.”

“Do you understand that if you are to die _without_ sharing this information with others, the secret will rest with you forever?”

“I do.”

“Do you understand that if you are to die _having_ shared this information with others, all of these persons will become the new Secret Keepers of Number 12, Grimmauld Place, London, England, otherwise known as the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix?”

“I do.”

Both of their wands were shaking violently now: light seemed to seep through the very floorboards, up the walls, rippling across the tables, coating the ceiling, growing, creeping up, engulfing the entirety of the house.

“Then, with my trust and witness, the secret is yours to keep,” Sirius said, straining against the force.

“The secret is mine to keep,” Dumbledore replied.

 _“Fidelium Finite,_ ” they chorused in unison. A shockwave went through the entire house, and then, the light disappeared. Sirius slumped back into his seat, exhausted, but not the same comfortable sleepy exhaustion this morning— no, now he felt drained. Dumbledore, on the other hand, looked quite unaffected, and after nodding in satisfaction, elegantly resumed sitting in his chair.

“Well then,” Dumbledore said, stowing his wand back into his robes and placing his fingertips together again. “Now that we are safe from prying eyes, we must, at last, acknowledge why we are here today. That is of course, the fact that Lord Voldemort has returned.”

There was a shudder around the table: Mundungus Fletcher let out an audible yelp, Hestia Jones clenched her fists, and Molly closed her eyes, as if doing so could block out the sound of his name.

“His return was witnessed by Harry James Potter, who managed to escape the scene and inform me almost immediately. It is because of this that we have an advantage: Voldemort had very much hoped to keep his return a secret for as long as possible. It was, I believe, his goal to quietly recruit as many supporters as he could, keeping me in the dark until he felt powerful enough to announce himself to the world again. But he failed. The Order of the Phoenix has regrouped, and he will, moving forward, be unable to act without opposition.”

“Act?” Mundungus muttered. “Whas’ ‘e gonna do?” Molly shot him an annoyed look, and Sirius almost laughed: Dung was resting his head on one arm, managing to look half asleep and extremely alarmed at the same time.

“There are many things I believe he plans to do,” Dumbledore answered. “In the grand scheme of things, he will be, like I said, focused on gaining supporters. He will do so quietly, employing his Death Eaters to infiltrate various spaces. I foresee the use of persuasion, coercion, blackmail, torture, the Imperius Curse, as well as direct contact with those who publicly and privately sympathize with his aims. It is our job, therefore, to do mass outreach. However, this will be a difficult task: we not only need to convince others to resist joining Voldemort, or to fight back entirely— we need to convince others that he has, indeed, actually returned.”

He sighed deeply, and then, after a moment, continued.

“As you may have noticed, news of Voldemort’s return has not reached the _Daily Prophet_. You may have also noticed, though subtle, the smaller articles that I believe are attempting to discredit both Harry and myself. I have no problem with being called— as one journalist put it— a ‘ _delirious, addled, preposterously naïve dingleberry_ ’— in fact, as far as insults go, I find that one rather creative,” he noted cheerfully. “However, it is indicative of a greater problem, which is, of course, Cornelius Fudge, and much of his staff, are simply refusing to accept the truth. I have been delivering formal statements where I can, and will continue to speak until I am forcibly removed, but without the Ministry’s influence— and in fact, with what I foresee to be direct _interference_ — it is going to be quite difficult to convince the wizarding community that Voldemort is indeed back. People do not want to live in fear, and ignorance is a bliss many will cling to, up until the moment truth strikes them down.”

He paused for silence, and Sirius looked around the room, wondering how many of these people themselves had tried not to believe what Remus’ Patronus had told them.

“But,” Dumbledore started up again, his voice suddenly powerful. “It is our duty to fight this ignorance. It is our duty to spread the word as best we can, to recruit brave souls to fight with us. Some of you, in particular, are going to be exceptionally useful in this vein, as many of you have connections within the Ministry, and within other magical governments. Within the best of your ability, as _quietly_ as you can, I ask you to seek out others you can trust, others who believe the truth, others who can join us.”

“I have a few ideas,” Moody growled. Everyone turned towards him, and half the table recoiled: his magical eyeball was out of his socket, and he was rubbing it with a wet rag. “Some Aurors I know— Kingsley Shacklebolt, Nymphadora Tonks—”

“Nymphadora Tonks?” Sirius asked, sitting up, interested. “She’s my— first cousin once removed or whatever it is— she’s an Auror?” He had not thought about her in years, but he had been quite close with her mother, Andromeda, and had visited them a couple of times when Nymphadora— or Nymph, as Sirius had called her— was quite young.

“Never met a bigger clutz,” Moody grumbled. “But she’s bloody good otherwise. And Shacklebolt, well— you all know him, he’s one of the best Aurors I’ve ever seen. He’s leading the search for you, actually, Sirius—”

“Blimey, he must really like me,” Sirius said sarcastically. Lavanya Patil snorted, and Sirius saw Remus smile to himself out of the corner of his eye.

“—Well, he certainly seemed open to the idea that you were innocent,” Moody continued, popping his eye back in with an awful squelching sound. “And he has noticed the rise in Dark activities in the past year, as any of us with half a brain have. He has a lot of influence in the Ministry— the things he must overhear— I’ll talk to him.”

“Excellent,” Dumbledore said. “Thank you, Alastor.” He turned to the Weasleys. “Arthur,” he said, and Arthur Weasley looked up at him, face set. “I must thank you, and your entire family, for all of your help. I know Cornelius has been giving you a particularly hard time.”

“He is giving anyone who has so much as spoken to you a hard time,” Arthur said. “He made it clear that anyone who supports you is against him.”

“Quite ironic,” Emmeline Vance remarked. “That in his desperation to deny the true enemy has returned, he creates a false one.”

“Indeed,” Dumbledore murmured. “And yet, it makes perfect sense to him. For if he controls the narrative, he can exist without dissonance his own artificial, yet palatable reality.” He seemed to lose focus for a moment, and then, blinked, and continued speaking to the Weasleys. “It is therefore important to gather allies in all places, within the British Ministry of course, but also far beyond. In that regard, I have spoken with Charlie, and asked him to remain in Romania and connect with others there. I have not, however, been able to make contact with Percy, I was under the impression he would be here ton—” but he stopped, because Molly Weasley had, without warning, burst into tears. The whole table stared at her, shocked.

“Percy will not be joining the Order,” Arthur explained, through tight lips, his face white as a sheet as he put a hand on his wife’s back.

“I see,” Dumbledore said softly. He looked at the two of them with an air of sudden understanding, and then compassion. “I am very sorry.”

Molly buried her face in the sleeve of her robes. Sirius felt a bit awkward, but then, thankfully, Adrian Pine intervened.

“I have already made contacts in Portugal and Italy, like you asked,” they said hastily, tearing their sympathetic eyes away from the scene. “And I am happy to travel around— it is what I do, of course, anyways, so it wouldn’t be suspicious.” _Oh right_ , Sirius thought— he remembered the number of language electives Pine had taken in school. Classic Ravenclaw— Pine was fluent in everything from Ancient Runes to Mermish. They must have become a Translator after graduating.

“Thank you, Adrian,” Dumbledore said gently. Molly wiped her eyes. “And Lavanya, I believe you have your own connections—”

“Yes,” Lavanya Patil affirmed, sighing slightly. “I spoke with my niece several days ago— she is in Gryffindor with Harry Potter— and it seems that already parents are starting to regurgitate Ministry propaganda upon their children. I will be continuing to tutor young witches and wizards, and it will provide me, ah, insight and influence in certain family dynamics.”

“Your mission is to— what— counter-indoctrinate the youth?” Sturgis exclaimed, grinning. Lavanya grinned back at him rather mischievously.

“My mission is to _teach_ ,” she said proudly. “People underestimate the youth of the world, and the influence they have. If I add a lesson on recognizing signs of the Imperius Curse amongst basic math and reading, if I can teach history, _real_ history, in an unbiased way, well…” she trailed off, and then her grin faltered. “Death Eaters have little children, too,” she added, and it came out rather hoarse. Sirius had a rather ridiculous image of this woman teaching seven-year-olds how to multiply numbers, eavesdropping on parents discussing Voldemort’s plans in the other room.

“All I ask,” Dumbledore said, “Is that you are careful.”

“You sound like my brother,” Lavanya laughed, smiling once more. “I assure you, I will be.”

Dumbledore continued on, addressing some people by name and giving them direct orders— Mundungus was to talk with the allies he had amongst thieves and criminals; Emmeline Vance was to keep a close eye on the more powerful members of wizarding society (as a highly revered witch, she often got invited to important gatherings); Hamza Rasheed, Gregor Wright, and Patricia Glenn all had some form of international contacts that they’d be traveling off to speak with.

“And now,” Dumbledore continued. “It is also important to note that Voldemort does not restrict himself to human allies. He will be attempting to recruit all he can— this includes giants, dementors, goblin folk, and perhaps elves, although Voldemort has underestimated the latter his entire life. Wizarding society has not been kind to non-humans— in fact, we have been historically evil, vile, and cruel. Voldemort will use this to his advantage, as he has done so before: he will promise a better life to those who pledge to serve him.” He cleared his throat and continued, “Rubeus Hagrid and Madame Olympe Maxime are currently on a diplomatic mission to the last remaining giant colony, in the Ural Mountains. I expect them back sometime before September.” There were a couple of intakes of breath, but Dumbledore ignored them. “The dementors, on the other hand, will be nearly impossible to appeal to, as they have no souls of their own. I am therefore continuing with my campaign to convince the Ministry to remove them from Azkaban. I have, regrettably, made little progress.” He turned to the Weasleys again. “Bill, in regards to your work with goblins—”

“They often don’t like to get involved in Wizarding affairs,” Bill responded. “But I’m requesting a desk job so I can stay close to headquarters and work more closely with them. I haven’t heard anything for or against You-Know-Who yet within any circles.”

“Thank you,” Dumbledore said. “I myself have been in contact with the local centaurs and merfolk. I have reached out to several vampires. Remus—” he turned, and Sirius felt his whole body stiffen: he already knew what Dumbledore was going to ask.

“Yes,” Remus responded, and his voice was tight.

“Voldemort has recruited werewolves in the past,” Dumbledore said softly.

“What, so you’re going to send him off to join them?” Sirius interjected loudly, before he could stop himself. He didn’t really know where it came from, all he knew was, suddenly, he did not want Remus traveling hundreds of miles away, to mingle with people he didn’t even know, trying to convince them that the life he lived, the life Sirius knew he hated, wasn’t that bad.But if Dumbledore forced him to do it, Sirius was coming with him. In the midst of that thought, he noticed Snape was watching them, his lips curling into a malicious, almost delighted sneer— Sirius felt himself grow hot—

“Not… yet,” Dumbledore reassured gently. “I have not heard any news at this point. It is just something to keep in mind. For the future. For now, just keep your ears open.”

“Alright,” Remus said, but his entire body was stiff. Sirius waited until Dumbledore looked away, waited until everyone was looking away, and then, making a choice, placed his hand as gently as he could upon Remus’.

Remus jumped a bit and looked at him, blinking.

Sirius squeezed his hand quickly, and let go.

“Now,” Dumbledore announced. “Aside from the overarching goal of building his ranks, I believe Voldemort has one _very_ specific goal, one that it is very important, one that it is imperative he not complete.”

It was deadly silent now. Every face was staring at Dumbledore, every body sitting in rapt attention.

“It is my belief,” Dumbledore continued, “That Voldemort will seek a prophecy.”

Sirius could have sworn Snape’s eyes widened, but perhaps it was just a trick of the light.

“It is located within the Hall of Prophecy, in the Department of Mysteries, deep beneath the Ministry of Magic.”

“So it’s real, then,” Dedalus Diggle gasped. “The Hall of Prophecy…” Arthur too, looked wide-eyed, which Sirius thought was a bit odd, considering he worked at the place.

“Indeed,” Dumbledore confirmed. “And we must ensure that he does not gain entry. I don’t believe he himself will risk breaking into the Ministry at this point, but I am concerned that he may attempt to try…” he paused, and for one moment, he looked… scared? “…Other methods.”

“Do you think he’ll be sending Death Eaters to try and steal it for him?” Sturgis asked, frowning.

“…Yes,” Dumbledore affirmed, the fear from his face suddenly gone. “However, they will be quite useless in that regard. Only the persons involved in the prophecy itself are able to remove it from its location. I suspect that Voldemort does not yet know that. He was never one to believe in the power of fortune-telling; he cannot believe in something he cannot control. But due to past events, I expect his position has… shifted. I imagine he is seeking an explanation. If he were to hear it in its entirety, could give him the clarity he previously did not possess— and if he were to interpret it correctly, it could become his greatest weapon. It is imperative he does not receive it.”

“So what can we do?” Hestia asked eagerly. “How can we protect it?”

“There will be a rotating guard,” Dumbledore answered. “Those remaining in London will take turns, in secret, hidden beneath an invisibility cloak, protecting the Hall.”

“Hang on,” Sirius interrupted, a bit bewildered— it seemed like Dumbledore was overlooking the obvious. “You said _persons_. If this prophecy is about multiple people, can’t we just— I dunno, ask them to remove it before he does? And then hide it somewhere where it’s more protected?”

“The other subject of the prophecy is Harry Potter,” Dumbledore said.

Sirius’ stomach flipped over.

Of course it was Harry.

“What’s the prophecy?” Sirius demanded immediately. “What’s it about? What does it say?”

“The specific details of the prophecy do not concern anyone in this room,” Dumbledore responded determinedly. “It is not my position to share such information, and knowledge of its contents is not necessary to protect it.”

“So you know it,” Sirius accused, and he felt himself actually stand up. “You’ve heard it.”

“I have.”

“Sirius,” Remus muttered below him, but Sirius did not look away from Dumbledore.

“What about Harry?” Sirius demanded, louder still. “Has Harry heard it? Does Harry even know it exists?”

“No,” Dumbledore said firmly. “And for now, that is how it must remain.”

“I should say so!” Molly cried. “I think he has quite enough to deal with at the moment!” Sirius very much wanted to ask her how on earth she seemed to know the ins and outs of Harry’s capacity for dealing with things, but this time it was Remus who touched _his_ hand— it was feather-light, fleeting, but enough to get Sirius to settle on merely scowling in her direction, and sit back down.

“On that note,” Dumbledore went on, “Harry’s safety _is_ of the utmost concern. He has triumphed over Voldemort too many times, and they have a connection that neither of them quite yet understands. Voldemort is obsessed, he will stop at nothing to destroy him, and I fear he will use… any tool at his disposal to do so. Currently, Harry is at his aunt and uncle’s house, of course, under the careful eye of Arabella Figg, but—”

Snape made a face, and Sirius couldn’t stop himself.

“Got a problem with Squibs, Snape ol’ boy!?” Sirius snapped from across the table. Everyone stared. Snape’s lip curled in anger.

“Absolutely not,” Snape sneered. “I am merely concerned that with The Dark Lord returned, I am surprised that there are no, ah, _increase_ in security measures.”

“But there are, Severus, if you two would permit me to finish,” Dumbledore said politely, but his eyes flashed. “There will be a rotating guard to watch over Harry, as well. He is never to be left alone, not for a moment, but you are also not permitted to contact him in any way.”

“Why not just bring him here?” Sirius asked harshly. “If you want to keep an eye on him?”

Dumbledore fixed him with a stare that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. “Under _no_ circumstances must Harry leave his aunt and uncle’s house,” he maintained. “While he is there, he is protected— it is, in fact, the _only_ place where Voldemort cannot physically harm him. But there… are other ways to cause harm. And there are, of course, other enemies who may seek him out. Which is why we must keep an eye on him, to ensure his safety.”

“But you can’t just leave him in the dark about it,” Sirius said, bewildered. Molly shot him an incredulous look.

“I assure you, Sirius,” Dumbledore said, and his voice was strong and powerful. “Everything I am doing, every choice I have made, is for Harry’s protection. And right now, we shall not be telling him anything more than what he needs to know.”

“Fine,” Sirius growled. “I’ll take first watch, then.”

“No,” Dumbledore said, but his voice had grown gentler. “Voldemort, and therefore every Death Eater, will have been informed by now that you are an Animagus. You are still atop the Ministry of Magic’s most wanted list. If Voldemort is spreading his influence within the Ministry, it is probable they will come to know your form, as well. You will serve the Order far better from headquarters. It is, in fact, invaluable to have someone here at all times. Both you and Harry must remain put, for now.”

After that, Sirius barely heard the rest of the meeting.

It seemed to happen around him, but he was not a part of it anymore. He barely registered the creation of a guard schedule, the pouring over Ministry schematics. The only thing he was mildly aware of was Remus, who seemed unable to look away from him. Perhaps he wanted his old wand back— it’s not like Sirius would actually be needing it, staying at home, doing nothing. In fact, maybe Remus could wield two wands at once. Had anyone ever tried that? James would have.

The sound of chairs moving is what brought him back into reality: the meeting was over. Several people shot him sympathetic looks as they left; this only made him angrier— he didn’t know them, they didn’t know him, not really, and they were off to fight, to fight for Harry, to fight against Voldemort, while Sirius sat here and rotted with the walls. Snape smirked at him as he swept from the kitchen; Sirius hoped with all his heart that an old chandelier would fall on his greasy head before he made it out the door. Dumbledore was one of the last to leave, and Sirius heard him meet up with Ron and Hermione on the top of the stairs. It was only himself and Remus in the kitchen now.

“Sirius—”Remus began.

“Don’t,” Sirius spat. “I don’t want to hear it.”

“Hear what, exactly?”

“About how Dumbledore is right, how this will be safer, how it’s the _smart_ and _safe_ thing to do, how you’ve been telling me for a year that I needed to be more careful— well— now here you are, a direct order!” Sirius laughed bitterly. “I’m to be stuck in this stupid house, doing nothing, helping no one, least of all Harry. But that’s what you wanted, isn’t it? For me to sit back, hunker down, and keep my nose clean? So at least _you’re_ happy!”

Remus stared at him unflinchingly, and then said, in a quiet, steady voice, “Your unhappiness does not make me happy, Sirius.”

Sirius crossed his arms furiously, not quite knowing how to respond. Above them, Hermione’s shrill voice carried down the stairs.

“ _…But sir, if we can’t trust owls there’s got to be another way to talk to him safely— you have to understand, he’ll do something stupid if he’s stuck there, all on his own without any real news, I know he will, please…_ ”

And Sirius felt a deep pang of empathy for his godson, also trapped alone in a house of family members he hated, also being treated like a prisoner, despite having done nothing wrong.


	15. Keep Your Nose Clean

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sirius is bored. Really bored. Nothing is happening, so nothing happens.

_Early/Mid July, 1995  
_ _12 Grimmauld Place, London, England_

There was nothing to do except clean, so that is what Sirius did.

He had to admit, there was something extremely cathartic about going to war with his childhood home, and something even more cathartic about doing it with the accompaniment of the most traitorous pureblood wizards imaginable— he almost wished his mother was actually alive to see Ron Weasley accidentally step on one of her most treasured necklaces, breaking it into a thousand little pieces.

The Weasleys themselves were alright company. Sirius took a liking to Fred and George in particular, who he once watched with interest attempt to smuggle an entire case of newt spleens out of one of the spare bedrooms right under their mother’s nose.

“There’s probably a vial of Bulbadox juice still in the bathroom,” he said nonchalantly as he passed them. George started, nearly dropping his end of the newt spleens.

“Who used that?” Fred demanded, grinning devilishly.

“I did,” Sirius smirked. “Gave my brother boils for a week. Alas, a shame that he elected not to attend that summer’s garden party…” and Fred and George broke into laughter loud enough to alert to Molly that they were not, apparently, being worked hard enough.

Between cleaning shifts, Sirius wrote to Harry as much as he could, not that those letters meant anything— Sirius was running out of ways to say _‘Hey, I know this is frustrating and unfair, but you have to be careful and stay safe’_ without feeling like an absolute hypocrite. He thought that Hermione and Ron might be dealing with a similar conundrum— he often heard them whispering with each other behind furniture as they cleaned, and he could never help eavesdropping.

“No, I didn’t say anything, but Hermione, he’s gonna be bloody angry—”

“Of course he is! He’s going to be furious! Oh, Ron, you don’t think he’s going to— I don’t know— run away, or something—”

“Dunno. He has before, hasn’t he? But Dumbledore always makes him go back the next summer…”

And Sirius tossed an ornate glass sculpture in the rubbish bin, thinking bitterly about how Dumbledore seemed to find no problem condemning people to stay in homes they’ve already attempted to flee from.

The good thing was, for the most part, the house was rarely empty. Yes, the Weasleys were there, but there were also always Order members coming and going, and meetings to attend. And Remus. Remus was staying there as well.

And, he had picked up a curious habit of continuing to sleep in Sirius’ bed.

All nights except one, of course. July 12th was the full moon, and Remus, being back on Wolfsbane Potion, curled up in Regulus’ room for that one. Sirius had not slept at all that night: instead, he went up to the attic and practiced his cursework, blasting old heirlooms into dust. Snape had not held back from reminding Remus what an _enormous_ favor he was doing him by brewing such a _difficult_ and _expensive_ potion, and so Sirius imagined every vase and piece of jewelry that he destroyed was actually Snape’s head.

But yes, besides that night, Remus slept with him. Not _slept with him—_ but slept with him. They did not talk about it. It simply happened, every night, without fail— they’d just end up, together, in Sirius’ bedroom. The night after the full moon, Sirius came up to find Remus already asleep underneath his quilt, and when he slid into bed with him, he could have sworn Remus let out a contented sigh.

Sirius wanted it to mean something. It was becoming increasingly difficult to maintain distance within the tangle of sheets; there were mornings where they’d wake up facing each other. But still, they did not talk about it. And Sirius was nervous that if they did, it would stop. The nights that Remus left for guard duty were awful— he didn’t think he could handle it every day.

Three days after the full moon, Sirius awoke to the sound of his mother screaming. He looked over the side of his bed: Remus had already gotten up. He lay there for a moment, hoping that maybe he was downstairs, and he’d take care of it on his own, and Sirius could just stay asleep forever— but then, suddenly, there was something else amidst the screams— the intriguing sound of new voices. It was the curiosity of this that pulled him from his bed, and lead him down the stairs. 

“I’m so sorry, I’m sorry!” A person wailed as Sirius rapidly descended. “I didn’t see it, it’s so dark in here!”

_“—YOU!!!! DISGUSTING SPAWN, THIS IS NOT YOUR HOME, BURNED FROM THE TREE YOUR MOTHER WAS, NO GOOD BLOOD TRAITOR, RUNNING OFF WITH A MUDBLOOD, ABANDONING HER FAMILY, BESMIRCHING OUR GOOD NAME—”_

“—Who uses a troll’s leg as an umbrella stand, anyways, where’s the rest of it—”

_“TRAITOR TO HER SISTERS, TRAITOR TO HER KIND—”_

“—Like d’you think its head is being used as a toilet—”

“A good idea, wish mum had gotten you as an interior decorator,” Sirius answered, for he had reached the first floor in record time. The two figures turned around in surprise, but Sirius rushed past them and ripped the curtains closed with as much strength as he could muster. The screaming stopped, and he turned, breathlessly, to face the newcomers— and felt his pulse skip in surprise.

Nymphadora Tonks was standing a few feet in front of him, a bemused expression on her face. It had to be her, he knew it— but she wasn’t a child— of course she wasn’t, he hadn’t seen her in over, what, fourteen, fifteen years maybe— fully grown, short, spikey turquoise hair, pointed, elf-like ears adorned with earrings— each of her eyes were a different color, one pink, the other yellow—

“…Wotcher,” she said awkwardly, giving him a cautious, lopsided grin. “Sorry about that.”

“Not your fault,” Sirius said, straightening himself, still staring at her. “She hasn’t been much for family reunions, as of late.”

“Hello,” a deep voice said, and Sirius started— he had nearly forgotten the other figure was there. A tall, bald older wizard with an earring smiled down at him. “Kingsley Shacklebolt.” He reached out his hand. Sirius shook it, quite bewildered.

“Sirius Black,” he said.

“Oh, I know,” Kingsley responded, and his eyes twinkled humorously. “I’ve spent a lot of time looking for you.”

“‘Course,” Sirius shrugged. “I took pity, thought I’d make it easy for you and just invite you to my lovely home, here.” Kingsley laughed.

“Wish I had known,” he chuckled. “Unfortunately I’ve already informed my colleagues of my suspicions that you’re somewhere in Tibet. Ah well, too late to correct that little error now I suppose…” he winked, and Sirius couldn’t help but grin back.

“Excellent,” a voice growled, and Moody came stomping into the hallway from the kitchen stairs. “You’re all arrived and acquainted, unless of course you’re imposters, in which case—”

“Don’t be an idiot, Mad-Eye,” Nymphadora Tonks said cheerfully. “We couldn’t get through the Fidelius charm if we were Death Eaters, could we?”

“Sounds exactly like something a Death Eater who got through the Fidelius Charm would say,” Moody barked threateningly. “Prove you aren’t— what score did you receive on your Stealth and Tracking qualifications?”

“You’re really gonna make me relive that in front of everyone?” she exclaimed. Kingsley laughed again, and turned to address Moody himself.

“The last words you spoke to us was a thinly veiled death threat, before handing us slips of parchment bearing the location of the Order of the Phoenix,” Kingsley affirmed. Moody rolled his magical eye, but seemed mostly satisfied by this response, because he beckoned them along towards the basement door. Sirius fell into step with them.

“So,” he said to his second cousin. “You’re an Auror.”

“Yeah,” she said proudly. “Qualified last year.”

“I bet ‘Drom is thrilled,” he smirked nostalgically. “Her kid, little Nymphadora, fighting back against our own family…”

“Well, she was even more thrilled to find out you were innocent,” she responded. “And I go by Tonks. Nymphadora is so…” she shuddered. “… _Aggressively_ a woman’s name, you know?”

“I used to call you Nymph,” Sirius told her, as they descended the stairs. Tonks snorted.

“I remember, actually,” she said, grinning. “My mother hated it. She hates all my nicknames. But she’ll come ‘round.”

“I think going by Tonks is brilliant,” Sirius said decidedly. He remembered when Andromeda changed her last name, how maliciously freeing she said it felt. And Sirius, still young, had eventually decided that the _second_ he married someone, he would take their last name as well, and, like his cousin, be completely rid of any connection to the family he hated. Of course, that hadn’t worked out, what with Remus—

He stopped himself.

They had reached the kitchen, anyways. There, they found Ron, Hermione, and Ginny whispering feverishly with each other over bowls of porridge.

“…But we’ll have to wait to tell him that,” Hermione was muttering.

“This is rubbish,” Ron mumbled, spraying bits of porridge on the table. “Harry came to the World Cup last summer, why can’t he come here now?”

“Well don’t use _that_ event as collateral!” Hermione retorted incredulously. “He got his wand stolen by a Death Eater!”

“Oh, yeah,” Ron sighed, swallowing.

“You lot!” Moody barked, and they all jumped, as if just realizing there were others in the kitchen. “Don’t you have some cleaning to be getting to?”

“We are cleaning,” Ron said fearfully, unhelpfully grabbing a rag lying next to his half-empty bowl.

“Oh, don’t have them clean on our account!” Tonks chirped, nearly tripping over the doorframe as she advanced into the kitchen. “I’m quite used to clutter.”

“Not this kind, you aren’t,” Sirius muttered, thinking of the puddle of seven different poisons they had found under Ron’s bed the other day. But Tonks, not listening, had already gone ahead and began to happily introduce herself to Ginny whilst simultaneously waving her wand towards a stack of old dishes, which began to clean themselves, rather chaotically, at once.

Moody rolled his nonmagical eye, and trained the magical one on a locked cupboard beneath the sink, where the Ministry schematics were stored. There was due to be another meeting soon, and now that they’d added Tonks and Kingsley to their ranks, it was sure to be an informative one.

Not that that mattered to Sirius. All he could do was listen. He couldn’t actually do anything about the information he was hearing. Meetings, therefore, were not exciting— they were frustrating, like a tease, a taste of the action that he could only observe, never participate in.

The kitchen door opened, and Remus strode down the steps. Sirius turned to stare at him: but Remus caught sight of Ron, Ginny, and Hermione, and carefully stowed the invisibility cloak under his robes, out of sight. Molly Weasley was filing close behind.

“Kids!” Molly called, clearly annoyed. “The twins already started back on the second-floor bedrooms, what’re you doing down here?”

“Eating breakfast,” Ron said indignantly.

“Well, finish up and join them,” Molly ordered, bustling down the stairs past Remus. “There’s a lot of work to do, and heaven knows I can’t trust them to do it on their own.” The three of them exchanged an unreadable look, but under Molly’s sharp eye, they cleared their bowls and made way to leave.

“As if they’re even cleaning,” Ginny snickered to Ron and Hermione as the three of them went up the stairs. “Collecting inventory, more like…”

“They’d better be careful,” Hermione’s voice was fading out as they reached the top step, and left through the door. “A lot of the stuff we’ve been finding is really quite dangerous.”

“Doesn’t stop you from using the old Extendables though, does it?”

“Don’t be ridiculous Ron, that’s different…”

“Morning,” Remus said, his voice so close that Sirius nearly jumped: he had not noticed him move closer into the room.

“Hi,” Sirius answered, taking in the bags under his eyes. “How early did you leave?”

“My shift started at three,” he said wearily, handing over the invisibility cloak to Moody, who sniffed it suspiciously before putting it away. “Hestia took over, she’s got the good cloak.” Sirius wanted to ask Remus if anything interesting had happened, but what was the point— they’d be going over it as a group anyways, every small detail, the way they always did. So instead, he said nothing, and slumped down into the same chair he always sat in. Remus, however, remained standing, looking curiously at Tonks and Kingsley.

“Is that your cousin?” Remus asked.

“Once removed,” Sirius grunted.

“Tonks,” Tonks provided helpfully, clearly overhearing. “And are you—?”

“Yes, yes, they’ll be plenty of time for introductions later,” Moody interrupted with a growl, for people had started to file in, mercifully electing to enter themselves instead of ringing the doorbell for once. “We’ve got business to take care of.”

“Fascinating to see you out of a professional Auror environment, Mad-Eye,” Tonks smirked. “It’s great to see you so laid back, relaxed…”

Remus’ lips twitched, Kingsley grinned, but Moody just scowled at her.

Once everyone arrived, that morning’s meeting passed like any other. There was a bit more inner knowledge of the workings of the Ministry: Kingsley in particular, a very respected Auror, had quite a close connection to Fudge, and managed to provide a list of people he was paying particularly close attention to. Lavanya Patil joined via Floo Powder halfway through to report on the conversation she had heard between Richard Crabbe and his sister while she was tutoring the sister’s daughter—

“She’s only seven, and they’ve already had her memorize all of the Pureblood family names” Lavanya added at the very end.

“So what?” Sirius laughed. “I had to have those memorized by age five.”

There was talk of tailing known Death Eaters, of who was up to what, and of guard duty, and more guard duty, and more guard duty, oh, and more guard duty—

“Thought I saw someone try and sneak in last night but it was just an Unspeakable.”

“Didn’t see anything suspicious.”

“Nearly bumped into an Unspeakable last morning.”

“All quiet.”

And of course, guard duty for Harry—

“He seems fine.”

“He was just in his living room watching the news with his Aunt and Uncle.”

“Still alive.”

“Didn’t leave his bedroom today.”

“All quiet, then Ol’ Figgy took over, invited him for tea.”

And of course, Sirius wasn’t oblivious to the strings poking through the bottom of the door, nor how their presences at meetings correlated quite strangely with the amount of whispering Fred, George, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny were doing. Sirius rather thought Tonks noticed it, too— she caught his eye once and grinned at him and gave a little half-shrug. Sirius had to agree with her attitude— it seemed quite ironic that they were all stuck in this room lamenting over how to inform the Wizarding World about Voldemort, and meanwhile they were keeping all of the information about him under lock and key from the Weasley kids, Hermione, and most importantly— Harry. Obviously there were some things that children couldn’t handle, or shouldn’t have to know, but Sirius rather thought that it’d be a lot smarter to just sit them down and tell them a portion of the events— just enough to make them stop asking questions every single day.

The days passed. Cleaning, meeting, sleeping, writing to Harry, cleaning, meeting, sleeping. Sometimes something mildly exciting would happen, like Kreacher bursting into tears when Sirius tore Regulus’ old baby photos in half, or Ginny chucking a dungbomb directly at George’s face from across the room right when Molly Weasley’s back was turned. Remus slept in Sirius’ bed every night, and if anyone else noticed, or even suspected, they didn’t say anything.

He often wondered if Molly had an inkling. She was growing alarmingly close to Remus— they fell into a rather bizarre friendship, over the days and weeks. Not that Sirius didn’t like Molly, he just found her… a little controlling, overinvolved, maybe. But Remus got along with her famously, and she seemed to enjoy spending time with him, even if Sirius found her a bit patronizing.

But to be fair, Sirius was annoyed with almost everyone at the moment. Why couldn’t he help with guard duty, if he’d be under the invisibility cloak the entire time!? At least he was already a criminal— if he got caught skulking around in the Ministry, at least he wouldn’t be traced back to the Order, they’d just assume he was working alone, it’d actually be the best plan to keep the Order a secret—

“You don’t mean that,” Remus had said firmly, when he mentioned this one night before bed. “You’d end up in Azkaban again.”

“Feels like I never left,” Sirius had scowled, gesturing at the house around him. But of course, he hadn’t shared a bed with Remus in Azkaban. He thought about making a joke about it.

He didn’t.

— -

_July 24th, 1995  
_ _12 Grimmauld Place, London, England_

After almost three weeks, Sirius began to start sincerely hoping something would go wrong with the protective enchantments on the house. Not _horribly_ wrong, but maybe just enough so that _one_ Death Eater would find their way in, and Sirius would have an excuse to get in a good _fight_. Of course, Snape wasDeath Eater, and Sirius had found himself dreaming about scenarios in which Snape turned on them in the middle of a meeting and Sirius got to blast him into smithereens right in front of Dumbledore’s face. Of course, Sirius’d also started having more dreams about ripping Remus’ nightclothes off and doing him in the attic. So, he kept both of these things to himself.

They tackled cleaning out Ron’s bedroom that day, under Phineas Nigellus’ judgmental eye, and barely finished by the time the meeting was supposed to start. Molly, leaving her children (and Hermione) a gigantic platter of sandwiches, motioned for Sirius to accompany her as Phineas snarkily announced that the Headmaster was on his way.

“I do hope Dumbledore’s last speech went well,” Molly muttered, with not much optimism, as they made their way down the main staircase.

When they entered the kitchen, the rest of the Order was already seated. Sirius slid into the empty chair between Remus and Emmeline; Molly settled down next to Moody. They did not need as many chairs anymore: Lavanya Patil, Adrian Pine, Hamza Rasheed, Gregor Wright, and Patricia Glenn were all abroad, of course.

“Good evening,” Dumbledore said quietly, at the head of the table. “I hope you are all doing well.”

There was a silence in response, but apparently Dumbledore took that as a positive, because he smiled slightly, and continued to speak.

“There are a couple of major orders of business for tonight. Emmeline, if you may start, I believe you have spoken with some of your connections at the _Prophet_?”

“I have,” Emmeline said stiffly. “It is my understanding that the Ministry, Fudge in particular, is leaning even more heavily on the staff to discredit both you and Harry, but the endeavor is growing in intensity. I spoke with Celeste Liu yesterday: she was fired from her correspondent's job two days ago after refusing to write a piece condemning you. She informed me that it is quite clear that any journalist working at the _Prophet_ right now cannot write anything in your favor, lest risk their jobs. We are inching closer to a full-on smear campaign. They are selling a narrative that people are buying.”

“That’s what happens when the government controls the news,” Hestia snarled. “Fudge doesn’t own the _Prophet_ , how is this all legal?”

“Well of course it’s not legal,” Emmeline said curtly. “But neither is bribery, or coercion, or blackmail, and heaven knows that’s rampant in the Ministry right now.”

“Indeed,” Kingsley chimed in, and he addressed Dumbledore directly. “The Ministry is also taking greater methods to demote you within a political standing, as well as a social one. I do not know if you’ve heard talk—”

“Ah yes,” Dumbledore said, smiling serenely. “It seemed many of them did not appreciate my speech, although, if you all don’t mind me saying, I thought it was quite good.”

“I heard something about that too,” Arthur said, looking troubled. “Dumbledore, is it true that you’ve been voted out of—?”

“—Yes, it seems that it is of the majority’s opinion that I should no longer be a part of the Chairmanship of the International Confederation of Wizards,” Dumbledore answered, still quite untroubled, before Arthur could even finish his question. 

“What?” Remus exclaimed angrily. “When was that decision made?” Sirius glanced at him: he looked quite angry.

“Today,” Dumbledore said cheerfully.

Kingsley sighed seriously. “They are also officially demoting you from Chief Warlock on the Wizengamot. And Fudge is leaning heavily to revoke your Order of Merlin, First Class—” and several people, not just Remus, made noises of outrage.

“I do appreciate everyone’s concerns,” Dumbledore said. “But this meeting is not about me. Besides,” he added, eyes twinkling humorously, “I truly do not care what they do as long as they don’t take me off the Chocolate Frog cards: _that_ would be a loss difficult to recover from.” Bill snorted loudly, and Tonks let out an appreciative laugh. Everyone else around the table, however, looked quite gutted by all of this information. “Now then,” Dumbledore plowed ahead, ignoring the feeling of loss that had spread amongst the room, “Onto more important matters. Severus?”

Snape inclined his head, lifting his nose in an air of smug superiority, and Sirius so missed the days of his youth, when he could’ve just chucked a dungbomb at Snape’s ugly face, just like Ginny had to her brother weeks ago.

“Unfortunately, Macnair has made immense progress with the Gurg of giants,” Snape reported, and Sirius really could not tell whether Snape was using the word ‘unfortunately’ truthfully or not. “The Dark Lord is optimistic.”

“Indeed,” Dumbledore sighed. “Again, not altogether surprising. I warned Hagrid that the Death Eater presence was likely to remain.”

“Have you heard from Hagrid— or Madame Maxime— recently?” Remus asked softly.

“The last news I received, they were hiding with several injured giants amongst the caves,” Dumbledore sighed. “It is quite unfortunate the timing worked out the way it did. All we can hope is some of the giants are strong and stubborn enough to resist the orders of their Gurg.” Emmeline Vance and Sturgis Podmore exchanged a look, but said nothing. Dumbledore addressed Snape again. “And any word on the dementors?”

“He is being quite secretive about them,” Snape answered. “He has not yet shared specific tactics, although from what I understand, they are still somewhat under Ministry control.”

“Yes, yes,” Dumbledore murmured. “Somewhat, I’m sure… but, for whom… and for how long…” He sighed heavily, and Sirius could almost detect frustration in his eyes. “Thank you, Severus.”

“There is no need to thank me,” Snape said, and his cold, unfeeling eyes slid towards Sirius in a mocking sneer. “We are _all_ aiding in any way we _can_ , I’m sure.” Sirius felt white hot anger lick through his insides— he clenched his fist around the handle of his wand.

“And therefore, I will thank all of you the same,” Dumbledore responded. His gaze slid to Moody. “Anything to report, Alastor,?”

“I tailed the Carrow twins,” Moody growled. “Didn’t get much off them, except for that they’ve been trudging over to Malfoy Manor quite a bit.”

“Hmmm,” Dumbledore nodded. He stared at the table thoughtfully, and then looked up. “Lucius still has immense pull in the Ministry. That is something we must remain aware of.”

“And his son’s still a student,” Moody snarled. “Dumbledore, are you sure you oughta let—”

“I am not denying _any_ of my students the right to an education, Alastor!” Dumbledore asserted, with sudden force. “I thought I made that quite clear.”

“Just saying,” Moody grumbled. “Constant vigilance. Wouldn’t be the first bloody time parents have used kids as spies.”

“I will not punish a child for their parents’ crimes,” Dumbledore said, eyes flashing dangerously. Moody muttered something under his breath, but Sirius felt a weird, unexpected surge of appreciation for Dumbledore. It was fleeting— he was still furious with him, to be frank— but it made Sirius wonder, even briefly, if there were any children at Hogwarts now who disagreed with their parents’ politics, just like he had. He thought of Lavanya Patil, desperately trying to teach young witches and wizards true, unbiased magical history while their parents donned Death Eater hoods in the other room.

“Speaking of Hogwarts,” Kingsley said, seriously, breaking the awkward silence. “Fudge has been speaking a lot on the subject. You may have to be less worried about educational infiltration from He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, and more concerned with interference from the Ministry.”

“I am well aware of Cornelius’ interest in my teaching methods,” Dumbledore said. “And I have high reason to believe he is purposefully interfering with my ability to hire a new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher.”

“Well, don’t ask me again,” Moody scowled, massaging his magical eyeball, which seemed to have stuck in place. “Job’s bloody cursed.” Dumbledore fixed him with an unreadable expression. Sirius, however, felt Remus shift uncomfortably beside him— his appreciation for Dumbledore vanished, and he made a sudden decision. 

“Well, what about _other_ past teachers?” Sirius interjected boldly, nodding towards Remus, whose face drained of color. “Have you tried _rehiring_ anyone else?”

“Sirius,” Remus hissed, shocked. Snape looked equally furious, all of a sudden— his face turned a nasty shade of purple.

“I have made many offers, past and current, and been rejected,” Dumbledore responded, “And have had offers made to me, which I elected to refuse,” and his eyes slid, ever so subtly, to the fuming Snape. “I am continuing my search, as I have many a time before. It is proving difficult. But again, we are getting off-topic. I’d like to move on to guard reports, as I feel that—”

“—One moment,” Molly interrupted. Everyone turned to stare at her— it was very rare for someone to directly cut Dumbledore off— but Molly was holding up a single finger, and staring murderously towards the door. “What. Are. Those?”

Sirius craned his neck just in time to see the ends of two pieces of string vanish from under the doorframe.

“It’s probably nothing,” Tonks said hastily, looking all sorts of guilty.

“Oh, no, no,” Molly disagreed, her face turning a furious red color, and she stood up out of her chair, suddenly looking, despite her small stature, eight feet tall. “I recognize… they… I am going to…” Her whole body shook, as Arthur looked up at her, quite alarmed.

“Molly, love,” he said weakly, but he did not finish, because Molly threw aside her chair, surged up the stairs, and ripped opened the door. She grabbed the ends of the strings before they could be yanked up, and ripped them from the grasp of whoever, or whatever held the other end.

“FRED, GEORGE!” She shrieked, holding the loose strings in her fists. “GET DOWN HERE THIS INSTANT!” The entire Order seemed to collectively hold their breath. There was a pause, and then, with two loud cracks, the twins appeared on the top of the stairs.

“Hi mum!” George said, shaking like a leaf, but plastering on a huge, fake smile. “Surprised to hear from you, thought you were in a meet—”

“WHAT ARE THESE?” Molly shrieked, waving the strings aggressively in their faces. “AND DON’T YOU EVEN _THINK_ ABOUT LYING TO ME, I KNOW THEY’RE YOURS, I SAW THEM IN YOUR BEDROOM, STICKING OUT THE SIDE OF FRED’S PILLOW—”

“—That’d actually be _George’s_ pillow, mum—”

“—DON’T YOU DARE TALK BACK TO ME, I KNOW THEY’RE SOME SORT OF— SPYING DEVICE— YOU DIRECTLY DISOBEYED ME—”

“Oh, dear,” Remus murmured quietly.

“I know,” Sirius groaned. “She’s going to wake up my mother.”

“Well,” Fred squeaked, looking thoroughly terrified. “You technically told us we couldn’t _attend_ meetings, you never said—”

“NOT ANOTHER WORD, YOUNG MAN! I’VE TOLD YOU ONE HUNDRED TIMES YOU’RE TOO YOUNG TO BE INVOLVED! THIS IS ABSOLUTELY INEXCUSABLE! AND I SUPPOSE YOU’VE GOT RON AND GINNY IN ON IT TOO, HAVEN’T YOU!? GINNY CANNOT BE HEARING ANY OF THIS, SHE IS _THIRTEEN_ YEARS OLD—”

“—Well, to be fair, she’ll be fourteen in about two weeks—”

“— _WHAT_ DID I _JUST_ SAY ABOUT TALKING BACK? YOU WILL LEAD ME TO YOUR ROOM _THIS INSTANT_ AND YOU ARE GOING TO HAND OVER EVERY SINGLE LAST ONE—”

And, just as Sirius suspected, Walburga Black woke up.

“Told you,” Moody growled at Dumbledore, gesturing towards the cacophony of sound. “Can't trust 'em. Kids can be spies.”

“Didn’t notice them, though, did you Mad-Eye?” Tonks said devilishly.

“My eye’s been sticking!” Moody barked at her.

“Perhaps, Black,” Snape hissed sourly, sneering at Sirius, “You should go silence your _mother_ so we are able to continue this meeting. It is a task that you don’t have to leave the house for, after all.”

Sirius shot up so fast the chair nearly fell over behind him. His hand was around the handle of his wand again, there were shrieks all around him—

“ _Sirius_ ,” Remus commanded, grabbing his wand arm, and tugging him towards the kitchen door. “Come on, I’ll help you.”

“I don’t need your help—”

“ _HOW DARE THEY AWAKE ME WITH THEIR FILTHY WORDS, HOW DARE THEY TAKE EVEN A BREATH IN THE HOUSE OF MY FOREFATHERS—”_

“—RONALD WEASLEY I SEE YOU SNEAKING AROUND TOO, DON’T THINK YOU’RE OFF THE HOOK—”

Remus practically dragged Sirius up the stairs as the rest of the Order stared at them all, some of them bewildered, some of them on the verge of laughter, some of them angry. It would have been quite funny if Sirius wasn’t so furious. But he couldn’t curse Snape into oblivion— he had forgotten how strong Remus was. Remus dragged him past Molly, who was now positively chasing her sons up the stairs, all the way to the portrait. Sirius snatched one side with bitter fury, while Remus yanked on the other one. They met in the middle. The screeching stopped— only faint yelling remained from Molly, who was now upstairs purging Fred and George’s room of whatever other listening devices they had created.

“You can’t let Snape get to you like that,” Remus said softly. Sirius blanched.

“Let him— _let him_!?” Sirius sputtered. “I’m not _letting_ him do anything, he’s the one—”

“I know,” Remus backtracked hastily. “But he’s only doing it to get a rise out of you.”

“ _Really!?_ I had _no idea_!” Sirius exclaimed sarcastically, turning his back to the portrait haughtily.“You know,” he continued furiously, “If it weren’t for the fact we need him to brew you Wolfsbane Potion, I’d’ve poisoned his water cup way before now— in this house it’d be easy to make it look like an accident— I could pretend Kreacher meant it for me—”

“Sirius,” Remus said wearily, and he placed his hands on Sirius’ shoulders. “He’s being immature. Nobody else in that room thinks any less of you for staying here. I promise.”

“I want to fight,” Sirius tried to argue, but to his horror, it came out as an almost-whine. He glared at the floor, face reddening.

“There are different ways of fighting, Sirius,” Remus sighed. Sirius did not respond.

And then, after a minute of silence, he felt a soft tickle near his eye. It took him a second to realize what was happening— Remus had raised his hand to Sirius’ face, the tips of his fingers barely grazing his skin— there was a moment, in which neither of them breathed, Sirius still staring, now wide-eyed, at the floor, fearing to look up, and then Remus slowly, ever so slowly, ever so _lightly,_ tucked a strand of Sirius’ hair behind his ear.

Sirius’s pulse seemed to triple in speed. He exhaled the breath he’d been holding, and slowly lifted his eyes— because that _had_ to be something, wasn’t it— Remus had dropped his hand, and was now standing in front of him, arms back by his sides, looking uncertain—

And then Molly stormed down the staircase.

“Unbelievable!” she fumed, and she was clutching about a dozen long, string-like things in her fists. “Simply unbelievable!— Oh— Remus— Sirius—” she nearly ran into them. “Thank you for— I’m sorry about them, they never— I didn’t mean to make a scene—”

“Molly,” Remus interrupted soothingly. “It’s quite alright. No harm done.”

“No harm done!?” Molly scoffed. “Heaven knows how much they’ve heard!”

“They were bound to overhear something at some point,” Remus assured her, and he put a light hand on her shoulder. “They’re just as scared as any of us, Molly, they want to know what’s going on, that’s all.”

“But that’s the thing, they _aren’t_ scared,” Molly whispered, blinking rapidly. “They think it’s some— glorious, grand, prideful _battle_ — they don’t know— I just want to protect— I—” she stopped, bit her lip furiously, and shook herself a bit. “Nevermind. Let’s just— we should return to the meeting.”

“Alright,” Remus said gently, and shot Sirius a look as he walked with her to the basement door. Sirius trailed behind them, thoughts swirling around in his brain. By the time they had made it back to the table, he felt as though it had been hours, but everyone else was still talking: it died down a bit as Molly angrily cast an Imperturbable Charm on the door, while Tonks looked on in cautious amusement.

“Now that we’re all… settled again,” Dumbledore said, looking like he was trying not to smile. “We can get back to matters of the guard. Let’s start with Harry.”

“I had last shift,” Hestia piped up. She looked a bit uncomfortable, and then after a minute, added, “He was alright… physically.”

“Physically?” Dumbledore said sharply. “What do you mean?”

“Nothing, just…” Hestia looked even more awkward. “He seemed… uh, just not… happy?” And Dumbledore, who had been very alert, suddenly seemed to relax just a bit, which made Sirius feel murderously angry. He refused to let himself look at Snape.

“That is to be expected,” Dumbledore said sadly. “But he is safe?”

“…Yes,” Hestia shrugged. “No one’s trying to attack him that I can see.” Everyone else who had been on various shifts of Harry-watching-duty nodded in agreement; Mundungus gave a sleepy thumbs up.

“Good,” Dumbledore said. “But we must not, excuse the pun, let our guard down.” And then his voice got very serious as he finished, “Let me remind you all: it is imperative that we keep him from performing magic. It is imperative that we keep him at his Aunt and Uncle’s house. It is imperative that we not tell him more than he _needs to know._ ”

Sirius scowled at the table. With all of these continued restrictions, it sounded like Harry was just as bored as he was. In a week’s time, he’d turn fifteen. That was the same age Sirius, James, Remus, and Peter had found out about the Order, and had started begging Dumbledore to let them join. He made a note to maybe send him a cake, but the gesture felt empty and stupid— what Harry really needed, really _deserved_ was information. And just like Sirius couldn’t leave the house, or ask Remus what on earth was going on between them, or transfigure Snape into a bottle of frogspawn, he couldn’t give him any.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know this was a lil filler-y; don't worry, next chapter will be... truly the opposite. :) thanks for reading ❤️


	16. The Second of August, Twenty-Three Minutes Past Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sirius and Remus talk frankly about something that's been going on for a bit. Harry doesn't keep his nose clean.

_August 2nd, 1995  
_ _12 Grimmauld Place, London, England_

The meeting that evening had finished early, what with much of the Order being absent. Mundungus was watching Harry, Emmeline was guarding the prophecy, Arthur, Tonks, _and_ Kingsley were all at work, and Snape was away… somewhere on Dumbledore’s orders, which weren’t always made known to the rest of them. Dumbledore had dismissed them, and was now finishing up a fairly spirited conversation with Dedalus Diggle in the first-floor dining room. Molly had left the house for the first time in weeks— she told everyone she was going for a stroll around the neighborhood, but Remus had a strong suspicion she would end up in the area of Percy’s new flat, in an attempt to get even just a glance of him.

Remus himself was still in the kitchen, rolling up the schematics and storing them away in the cupboard beneath the sink, as Sirius, sitting alone at the table, poured himself a large glass of firewhiskey. Remus closed the cupboard and stood up, sighing. He hadn’t gotten much sleep the night before: he’d had an overnight shift guarding the prophecy, and the sun had risen by the time he switched off with Hestia and returned home—

Home?

It felt weird to call this dark, evil house ‘home,’ but what else would it be? He was staying here after all, but he didn’t really know how temporary it would be— the First Wizarding War had lasted a little over ten years. But it’s not like he foresaw spending the next ten years staying here… _with_ Sirius. That would be ludicrous— he could not imagine Sirius surviving ten more years in this house. And Snape surely would not brew Wolfsbane potion for him that long, and who knew if they’d all even survive—

“Blimey, what is wrong with you?” Sirius snorted from the table. “You look like Kreacher when he’s trapped in one of his daydreams about my mother’s old bloomers.”

“That’s disgusting,” Remus said, wrinkling his nose disapprovingly and turning to face him. “And perhaps you should settle down with him a bit, Sirius— he does live here, too, after all.”

“Yeah, the problem is, we’ll never get along, we just have different interests,” Sirius sighed dramatically. “ _I_ like being a decent person, _he_ enjoys insulting the Weasleys and snogging photos of Bellatrix Lestrange…” And he toasted Remus mockingly, and leaned onto the back two legs of his chair as he took a large gulp.

“What happened to opposites attract?” Remus joked softly.

“You tell me, Moony.” And he took another large swallow. Remus’ own throat suddenly felt just bit drier. He watched as Sirius put his glass down and began drumming his fingers on the surface of the table, watching him quite intensely, rocking slightly in the chair.

“Well,” Remus muttered awkwardly. “I didn’t get much sleep last night. So I think I’m going to go on up to—”

“To our bed?” Sirius finished lightly.

Remus’ stomach flipped over. The room seemed to get ten degrees warmer.

“…Sorry?” He said, his voice coming out a bit higher than normal.

“Oh, my bad,” Sirius said conversationally. “I just thought y’know, we’d finally acknowledge that we’ve been sleeping in the same bed, together, for almost a month now.”

Remus stared at him, stunned. He had quite thought that in regards to what— whatever it was they were doing— there was an unspoken agreement, a mutual acknowledgement, an unwritten contract that they’d never discuss it. And yet, here Sirius was, leaning back in his chair, drinking firewhiskey, cool as a cucumber, _discussing it_.

“I—” Remus faltered.

“I was just wondering, y’know, why?” Sirius continued, and his tone remained even, as if he didn’t really care, but his eyes were still intense, and his fingers were still drumming on the table— almost nervously?— but he didn’t seem nervous— not like Remus was right now—

“You asked me to,” Remus answered, a bit stupidly.

“Yeah, that _first_ night,” Sirius countered. “What about every night since then?”

Remus’ mind seemed to have stopped working: apparently all of his blood had rerouted to his cheeks. “Well I— if you’d rather I didn’t—”

“Did I say that?” Sirius demanded. Remus quite wished he had just left the kitchen without saying anything. Or that Dumbledore would come suddenly storming in to offer them a lemon drop. Or that one of the shiny pots hanging from the ceiling would fall on Sirius’ head, rendering him unconscious and erasing the last two minutes of conversation from his mind.

“I thought you wouldn’t want to… you know… be alone,” Remus explained, his pulse doing a sort of a terrified tap-dance through his veins. “I know this place holds… bad memories.”

“So that’s it?” Sirius said, narrowing his eyes— but his voice had that rough quality it got when he was hurt by something. “You just feel, what, _pity_ for me?”

“No,” Remus said hurriedly. “I just—”

“Because I mean, Dumbledore must pity ol’ Doge but he isn’t out here spooning him every night— actually, y’know what, bad example, Doge’d probably love that, he’s obsessed with—”

“Sirius,” Remus muttered.

“No, it’s just…” Sirius’ voice was very rough now. “The last time we slept in a bed together—”

“ _Sirius,_ ” Remus cut him off as quickly as he could. “I don’t know, okay? Look, I— I can sleep somewhere else. I _should_ sleep somewhere else.”

“I don’t— no that’s exactly— I’m not chucking you out, Moony!” Sirius exclaimed. “Just— if you’re only doing this because you think I’m a depressed pathetic little tike who can’t sleep alone without weeing the bloody bed—”

“I missed you, alright!?” Remus blurted truthfully. Sirius looked up, surprised, and Remus blushed in earnest, but furiously pushed on. “I missed you, when you left the cottage! I had just gotten y— I mean, you were there, and then you were gone, and after Azkaban and all I— you’re my— you’re my best friend, and I missed you. That’s why.”

A pause. Remus passively registered a loud _crack_ from outside the house, the sound of the door being wrenched open, and rapid shuffling footsteps down the hall above.

Sirius let his chair fall back to the floor. He was no longer drumming on the table.

“Oh,” he said.

“Don’t get all smug,” Remus muttered.

“Modesty is one of my many incredible traits,” Sirius answered back, as if on instinct. Remus rolled his eyes, but Sirius continued, with a forced smile, “Well, can’t be missing me anymore, can you? I’m not exactly going anywhere.”

“To be fair,” he said softly, barely listening to the muffled sounds of muttering wafting down from the first floor, “The dark magic you’re fighting in this house is probably worse than—”

But then, he was cut off by the most terrible sound he had ever heard.

It was deep, loud, echoing— a voice— it was a voice, wasn’t it— but Remus could not make out the individual words— it was raw and it was awful, it seemed to erupt into existence with a force beyond sound— the very air rippled, as if an explosion— Remus actually stumbled and Sirius nearly toppled off of his chair—

“What in the BLOODY _HELL_ —!?” Sirius exclaimed, and they exchanged a look, and without a word, dashed up the stairs, one behind the other, wrenching open the door—

There in the hallway, Mundungus was cowering on the ground, and towering over him, face white with fury, the air around him crackling, _pulsing_ with electricity, was Albus Dumbledore.

It was the scariest thing Remus had thought he had ever seen. His brain seemed to stop working for the second time that night— he vaguely noticed the Weasley twins, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny peering down at them all over the banister— he vaguely noticed that Kreacher was peering out from a tiny cupboard— he vaguely noticed that Mundungus was trembling— but Dumbledore’s fury was the thing taking up his entire focus right now. It was terrifying to look at, but perhaps it would be more terrifying to look away— it was like his entire body was glowing, as if he were about to explode—

“But Figgy took ‘em ‘ome,” Mundungus was sputtering wildly. “I can go back and check on ‘em if you w—”

“ **NO, YOU ARE TO RETURN TO ARABELLA’S HOUSE AT ONCE,** ” Dumbledore commanded to the man at his feet, the sound reverberating— Remus almost reflexively clapped his hands to his ears— but Sirius’ mother did not seem to wake up, perhaps for once, she too, was cowering in her frame— **“HAVE HER WRITE DOWN EVERYTHING SHE CAN REMEMBER. EVERY DETAIL. _NEITHER OF YOU ARE TO FURTHER CONTACT HARRY_.”** He whipped the tip of his wand into the air, and a great silvery phoenix burst into existence— he whispered something to it and it flew off with unimaginable speed, a streak of silver blasting through the wall— and without another word, without looking at any of them, he surged from the house as if he himself were flying— the door burst opened and he twisted into oblivion, vanishing with a resounding, final _crack_.

The sound seemed to echo long after he had gone. Mundungus warily picked himself off the floor. Remus and Sirius stared at him, gaping. The Weasley kids and Hermione bounded down the stairs, all looking rocked to their absolute core.

“Dung,” Sirius sputtered, finally shaking himself out of it all. “What the bloody _fuck_ was that?” Mundungus crossed his arms shiftily.

“Jus’ a little— y’know—” he waved his hand guiltily. “Listen, it’s been so quiet, I didn’t think there’d be any ‘arm in leaving for just a mo’—”

“ _Dementors!_ ” Hermione shrieked, wringing her hands, trembling from head to toe. “We heard— he said— there were dementors, someone sent dementors after Harry, they attacked him!” Shock and panic gripped Remus’ chest. He felt a bolt of anger rip through him, and, suddenly, found himself seizing Mundungus’ arms in perfect unison with Sirius.

“Is he alright!?” He demanded anxiously.

“Yeah ‘e’s bloody _fine_!” Mundungus cried, pushing them off. “Seems like ‘e fought ‘em off—” Remus swore loudly without realizing what he was doing— Hermione jumped at the sound.

“He fought them?” Sirius repeated.

“He must’ve cast a Patronus,” Remus moaned, and the realization of everything crashed upon him. “This is exactly what Dumbledore was afraid of—”

“It was?” Fred and George chorused in unison.

“Mundungus,” Remus plowed on, ignoring them. “I need you to tell me _exactly_ what happened.”

“I don’ bloody know, I wasn’t there!” Mundungus cried defensively. “I got word there were these cauldrons, see— normally I wouldn’t but— the business opportunity—” Remus groaned, and Sirius laughed in a jilted, maniacal way— Hermione looked at him as if he were insane.

“Where did Dumbledore go!?” Ginny asked ferociously, looking accusingly at Mundungus, Sirius, and Remus as if they were purposefully withholding this information from her. “Did he go to get him?”

“Doubt it,” Sirius responded bitterly. “Merlin forbid Harry know anything.”

“Sirius,” Remus muttered. They couldn’t speak freely in front of the kids, but here they were, surrounding them anxiously, Hermione near tears— and Remus himself was wrought with worry, because even if Harry had protected himself in the short-run—

The front door burst open, and Molly Weasley flew into the hall. She looked around wildly, as if possessed, and then her eyes caught sight of Mundungus— and as they widened with absolute hatred and fury, Mundungus swore, turned on the spot, and Disapparated with a _crack_.

“YOU—GET BACK HERE YOU— IRRESPONSIBLE, FOOLISH—” She screamed at the spot Mundungus had vanished, and Remus hastened to grab onto her. She turned to look at him in a frenzy. “I KNEW IT, I _KNEW_ HE WAS NO GOOD, AND NOW LOOK WHAT’S HAPPENED—”

“What do you know about it!?” Sirius demanded.

“Arthur sent me a Patronus not two minutes ago!” Molly wailed, clutching onto Remus’ arms. “Dementors! Why not!? Oh, Harry, Harry, why is it always Harry, he must’ve been so terrified!”

“Mum, he’s fine,” Ron said nervously. “He’s good at Patronuses—”

“I don’t care _what_ he’s good at!” Molly cried. “He’s a child, he’s all alone there, why the heavens— it’s a Muggle neighborhood— AND MUNDUNGUS WAS SUPPOSED TO BE—!”

“ _Molly_ ,” Remus interrupted. “We don’t know anything yet, but Dumbledore’s been alerted—”

“Yes, yes, he’s at the Ministry right now, trying to sort it out!” Molly exclaimed, and there were tears in her eyes. “Arthur’s told me, he’s there, and Harry’s been expelled, but Dumbledore’s talking to—”

“WHAT?” Ron shouted, as Hermione let out a squeak of horror. “What do you mean he’s been expelled!?”

“Underage use of magic,” Remus said bitterly, because everything was starting to fall into place— the whole thing was so perfect, wasn’t it— Voldemort’s influence over the dementors must’ve been stronger than they thought, and now the Ministry was reaping the benefits of it all, focusing not on the real horrors of dementors beyond their control, instead throwing all their energy on an easily-punished case of underage magic— another way to discredit Harry even further—

“But— but—” Hermione was sputtering, absolutely petrified. “It was self-defense— there’s got to be something for self-defense— I know I’ve read _something_ —”

“They can’t just expel him without proof, can they!?” Ginny exclaimed, bewildered. “Without listening to his side of the story?”

“The Ministry’s never cared much for anyone else’s side of the story,” Sirius laughed darkly.

“Well, Dumbledore will make them care!” Molly said shrilly. “He’ll sort it— but we don’t even know the details of what’s happened— Arthur’s written to Harry, he was nervous he’d try to leave the house when he got the notice of his expulsion—but he wouldn’t do that, not when he’s just been attacked, would he?” Sirius and Remus exchanged a look: it seemed very much exactly the sort of thing Harry would do.

“I should write to him,” Sirius said at once. “Let him know what’s going on.”

“We barely know anything yet, Sirius,” Remus stopped him. “We have to wait—”

“Wait for what?” Sirius barked, and then, as if to answer his question, there was another loud crack, and the door burst open for a second time. Arthur Weasley rushed in, looking, if possible, even more stressed than his wife.

“Dad!” The twins exclaimed.

“What’s happening?” Ron, Molly, and Sirius demanded at the same time. Sweat was lining Arthurs's brow, and he wiped it away as he hurried towards them.

“Oh good, Molly— Dumbledore’s talking to Mafalda Hopkirk right now— he’s explaining the situation— and it’s working, I think, they’re not completely dismissing him— he might be able to get them to compromise, at the very least—”

“Arthur,” Remus said, trying to remain as calm as he possibly could. “Can you please explain to us what’s happened? From the beginning?”

“From what I understand,” Arthur said, speaking very quickly, “Harry cast the Patronus Charm in front of his cousin to fend off a pair of dementors. Mundungus had left his post, Arabella saw to it that he got home— but The Ministry sent him a letter expelling him, they were preparing to destroy his wand, he was to attend a hearing afterwards— he’s already performed underage magic in the past, you see—”

“Wait, yeah!” Ron interjected. “He blew up his Aunt before third year, but he said Fudge didn’t care at all, he didn’t get in any trouble!”

“That was a different time, Ron!” Arthur said nervously, running his hand through his balding hair. “Now, Fudge is looking for any excuse to demonize Harry, and this practically fell into his lap!”

“Shit,” Sirius muttered. “He ran away after that— after his aunt— I was watching him as a dog, I saw him. He took the Knight Bus.”

“I just wrote him, I told him to stay at his Aunt and Uncle’s house and hold onto his wand at all costs,” Arthur lamented. “The dementors showing up at that specific time— it can’t be a coincidence, he must be being watched— someone knew Mundungus was gone, and then that Harry left—”

“Well of course he left,” Sirius snapped. “He’s been trapped in that house all summer, you can’t expect him to not want to have a little fun, get his blood pumping a bit—”

“FUN?” Molly exclaimed, bristling with fury. “He was _attacked_!”

“Alright!” Remus intervened loudly, before Sirius could reply. “What matters now is he stay there, if he leaves he could very well be attacked again. We don’t know who sent the dementors or whether or not they’re still there. We don’t know if more will return. We don’t know if this is the first part of a multi-step plan of attack. Arthur’s right, it is _imperative_ that he remain at his Aunt and Uncle’s house right now, it is the only place he can be safe.”

“Look, I’m writing to him!” Sirius said again, and he summoned a quill, ink, and parchment from the kitchen with a wave of his wand. “I do actually agree with you, you know! I’m telling him to stay!”

“Good,” Remus said, feeling a small wave of relief. “He’ll listen to you.”

“I’m just _saying_ ,” Sirius muttered, scribbling furiously, leaning on his knee to write, “It’s not his fault.”

“Of course it’s not his fault!” Molly fretted. “It’s Mundungus— of all the unbelievable— HOW COULD HE HAVE LEFT HIM—”

“Well maybe you should’ve gotten some more recruits to help out, then,” Fred said loudly, crossing his arms. “Don’t exactly need a Hogwarts degree to spy on Harry, and me and George are quite good at sneaking—”

“DON’T YOU START!” Molly turned on him dangerously fast, as Sirius’ owl swooped out of the narrow window. “This has nothing to do with you!”

“Dear,” Arthur said wearily, laying a hand upon her upper arm. He turned and addressed the group as a whole. “I’m going back to the Ministry to check in and see what’s going on. I’ll be back as soon as I have news, alright?” Molly bit her lip and nodded— he kissed her on the forehead, nodded to Remus and Sirius, and turned on the spot, Disapperating from the room. There was a short silence, in which they all sort of stared at each other, but it was broken by—

“Sirius,” Hermione exploded. “May I borrow— I saw some books on the Wizarding Legal System in the drawing-room— I just want to look something up—”

“Really, Hermione?” Ron scoffed. “What’re you going to do, burst into the Ministry of Magic with a thousand-year-old book?”

“There’s got to b a- a previous case or something, and _I_ know there’s a clause, we learned it in History of Magic first year, but I’ve forgotten the exact wording…” Hermione continued, ignoring him. She looked at Sirius desperately, and he smiled in a rather bemused way, but nodded. Without another word, she turned on her heels and dashed up the stairs, disappearing from view. Ginny sat down on the steps, grinding her teeth and glaring at nothing. The twins joined her, but Ron remained standing, still looking like he had not quite recovered from being hit by a Bludger.

“Tell me, Moony— this what you expected when you taught him a Patronus way back?” Sirius muttered, a bit of hilarity in his voice.

“I wanted him to be able to protect himself,” Remus said truthfully. And he had a sudden flash of thirteen-year-old Harry, hastily wiping away tears on his office floor to stand up to the boggart once more.

“Well, he did,” Sirius said. And then he smiled, almost proud. “And it sounds like he put up a good fight— two at once, not bad.”

Remus nodded, but could not share Sirius’ sense of accomplishment yet. Harry’s fate was still very much in the air, and Remus knew the threat of expulsion and losing his wand must be tearing him apart. He had watched Harry at Hogwarts, he knew how much he loved it there, he saw how much he loved magic— back then, in his third year, he had still had that sparkle in his eyes, the telltale sparkle of someone who still found magic amazing and exciting and beautiful— Hermione had had it too, when she had once raised her hand to inform Remus she had read ahead in the textbook— it was a sparkle most young wizards who’d been raised by Muggles had.

Lily had had that sparkle. First Year, in potions. They hadn’t been friends yet, but Remus still remembered her happy, incredulous laugh and the _sparkle_ in her eyes when the cauldron in front of her turned from dark blue to a sparkling pink.

Remus’ own mother, a Muggle, had had that sparkle when Remus was a toddler. He remembered it, even still— the delighted look on her face when Remus accidentally made a bowl of wilted sunflowers bloom again.

That was before Remus had been bitten by a werewolf. Before she had realized that magic was not just bright colors and whimsical words— it could be dark, and cruel, and evil. He was five when he watched the sparkle leave her eyes.

“Professor Lupin?” A voice asked, and he was shaken out of his reverie to see that Hermione had returned, clutching several books to her chest— she still addressed him as Professor, although it had been over a year since he had formally taught anyone. “I was wondering— well, when Dumbledore was speaking to Fudge, after the Third Task, he said the dementors— well, that they would be likely to switch loyalties to You-Know-Who…”

Remus regarded her warily; both of the twins perked up, interested.

“And, well, if the Ministry doesn’t believe that You-Know-Who is back, then they won’t want to acknowledge out-of-control dementors at all, will they?” she continued. Remus held in a heavy sigh. She really was the brightest young witch he had ever met.

“Don’t think about that now, dear,” Molly said, with the air that she was trying to convince herself as much as Hermione. Hermione bit her lip, but seemed unable to continue talking, anyways— she sat down next to Ron on the staircase, and flipped open one of the large, dusty books without another word. Ron watched her, seemingly lost in thought.

Ten minutes passed.

Molly excused herself to make some tea, returning with enough cups for all of them, handing them out with a kind of forced warmth. Hermione offered hers to Kreacher, who had been apparently eavesdropping on the entire affair with great interest. He responded to her with a series of insults so horrible that Molly gasped, and Sirius forcibly removed him from the hall, nearly hurling him down the kitchen stairs.

Ten more minutes passed.

And then, a loud crack from outside.

Everyone who was sitting shot up to a stand as Dumbledore strode into the room, flanked closely by Arthur, Tonks, and Kingsley; the latter two were still in their Auror robes.

“Hello,” Dumbledore said, addressing them all, and his voice was plain and straightforward, no longer the horrible, magnified sound that had pierced the house less than an hour ago. “I have spoken with several members of the Improper Use of Magic Office, as well as Cornelius himself. After much discussion, they have agreed to postpone the decision regarding Harry’s expulsion and wand destruction. There will be a hearing on the twelfth of August.”

It was clear nobody really knew how to respond to this news.

Hermione looked like she was going to faint, but whether that was from horror or relief, Remus did not know; Ron looked dumbstruck; Fred and George exchanged a glance that must’ve only made sense to them; Ginny bit her lip in a manner so much like her mother it was shocking. Sirius was squinting at Dumbledore with his arms folded, his mouth tight.

“Thank the heavens,” Molly finally said, breaking the silence.

“It will certainly buy us some time,” Dumbledore said, although he himself did not look happy with the outcome of events. “I know it is late, but I am calling an emergency meeting at once. The stakes have changed.”

“Right,” Molly nodded, and straightening herself, turned to her children. “Alright, off to bed, you lot.”

“Mum,” Ron argued. “You can’t just—”

“One moment, Molly,” Dumbledore interrupted. He walked directly up to the kids, but seemed to focus the majority of his attention on Ron and Hermione. “I know you are worried about Harry,” Dumbledore said, and his voice was gentle now. “But my request of you has not changed. You are not to give him any information through owl post, no matter how much he may ask.”

“You’re joking,” Sirius said loudly.

“I am not,” Dumbledore responded, eyes flashing, but he remained looking at the kids. “He will be with us soon enough. You may talk freely with him, then.”

“Wait, what?” Ron asked. “He’s coming here?”

“Yes,” Dumbledore continued. “But you cannot inform him of that. I imagine that he will be writing to you both tonight— all I ask is you wait a couple of days to answer his questions, until he arrives safely and securely. He will remain here for the rest of the summer.” He turned back, now facing all of the adults in the room. “If you’d please join me in the kitchen,” he murmured, and strode, with purpose, towards the basement stairs.

Remus turned and followed after him— he no longer felt the tiredness he had felt only, what, a half-an-hour ago? Now every cell in his body was alive, alert, anxious. Sirius didn’t say anything as the descended into the kitchen, nor as they sat down. It took only five minutes for the rest of the Order to arrive, all except Bill, who was replacing Emmeline for guard duty of the prophecy, and Mundungus, who must’ve still been with Arabella Figg.

“So Harry’s coming here?” Sirius demanded, once everyone had arrived and been debriefed. There was something accusatory in his statement, but Remus could hardly blame him. “Why this sudden change? I thought the whole point of keeping him there was it was the _only_ place he’d be safe from more attacks?”

“He has had enough time at his Aunt and Uncle’s to secure his protection,” Dumbledore said heavily. “And I have decided with the events of this past night, it is necessary he come to stay here.”

“Oh, _you’ve_ decided,” Sirius scoffed. “Right.” Several people shot him incredulous looks at his tone, but Dumbledore did not admonish his behavior.

“Yes,” Dumbledore said simply. “I have.” He fixed his gaze on Sirius, blue eyes bright. “I do not want him facing this trial alone, without any support. I do not regret my decision to have kept him at Privet Drive, but I acknowledge that the position has changed. Given the dementor attack, the Ministry’s knowledge of his location no longer gives me peace of mind. We must plan, therefore, a safe, untraceable method to bring him here.”

“Floo Network is out,” Arthur said, rubbing his chin wearily. “They’re watching it very carefully these days, and his Aunt and Uncles’ house isn’t permanently connected, anyways, I can tell you that firsthand.”

“Perhaps side-along Apparation,” Emmeline said, frowning thoughtfully.

“Please,” Moody growled. “How old is he, fifteen? And he’s never done it before? Boy’ll vomit midway through. I’ve seen grown wizards try side-along and they’re so focused on their kid that they end up splinching _themselves_ in half a second, leave behind all their parts…”

“Which parts, Mad-Eye?” Tonks said conversationally, and as Moody scowled at her, Remus fought to keep himself from smiling.

“Well, what about a Portkey?” Hestia offered. “Obviously, it’d have to be unauthorized, but—”

“Yeah, give Fudge another reason to throw the boy in Azkaban,” Moody barked. “Unauthorized Portkey, are you mad?”

“Calm down,” Kingsley said soothingly, as Hestia looked a little disgruntled. “We’re all just sharing ideas—”

“Brooms,” Remus interjected, and he was suddenly so shocked that the idea, so obvious, had not occurred to him right away. “Harry’s a superb flier, he _has_ his own broom, it’ll be the most comfortable way for him to travel. If we fly there, and escort him back… as long as we fly high enough, and remain undetected by Muggles…”

“Brilliant,” Emmeline said.

“I concur,” Dumbledore agreed, looking, for the first time that night, satisfied. Everyone else nodded their agreement.

“We’ll need a guard,” Moody growled. “A group of us to get him, make sure he doesn’t get blasted off his broom halfway to London.”

“I’ll go!” Diggle squeaked at once. “He knows me, we’ve met before!”

“I’d like to go as well,” Emmeline said stoically.

“How about,” Sirius said, his voice rising, “Remus goes, since it was his idea, and everyone else just raise your hand if you want to help him fly off into the sunset and rescue dear Harry, huh?”

There was a pause, in which Remus felt a surge of affection and also guilt for Sirius, who was sitting beside him, arms crossed, looking thoroughly annoyed— Merlin knew how bad Sirius wanted to get on a broomstick and fly off into the night. And then, in one fluid motion, more than half of the room raised their hands. Remus glanced around: Dedalus Diggle, Moody, Emmeline, Tonks, Kingsley, Hestia, Sturgis, and Doge all had their arms up. He looked back at Sirius, who was staring at the sheer number of volunteers with a look of bitter exasperation.

“Think that’ll be enough?” Sirius drawled moodily.

“That is something to think about,” Arthur said suddenly. “His Aunt and Uncle, well, they— they’re not very, ah, _comfortable_ with magical company. I imagine a group of wizards arriving, unannounced, toting broomsticks, might make for a rather…” he paused as if choosing his words carefully, “…hostile affair.”

“Indeed,” Dumbledore nodded.

“Well, then let’s either Stupefy ‘em, or get ‘em outta the house beforehand,” Moody growled. And Tonks perked up at once.

“Oh,” she grinned mischievously. “Easy. I can lure them out.”

“How?” Sturgis laughed. “Leave a pile of money in the middle of the street and sneak in the back door while they’re distracted?”

“Better,” Tonks said, puffing her chest out proudly. “They live in a perfect little cookie-cutter neighborhood, don’t they? And from what Hestia and Mundungus have said, they’re the sort of people who’d do anything for some ego-puffing… I bet you I could make up some sort of event… have them go off to a fake ceremony for— dunno, ‘shiniest car’ or ‘best kept lawn’… send an invite in the Muggle post…” and despite his mood, Sirius actually laughed, a genuine laugh that seemed to loosen the knot in Remus’ chest just a bit.

“Very creative,” Dumbledore said, and his mouth was twitching.

“Thanks,” Tonks chirped. “You’d be surprised how often stuff like this works. When do we want to get him?”

“Let’s plan for late Friday evening,” Kingsley said. “Very few people will be at the Ministry, so the risk of potential interference will be greatly lessened, and it’ll be dark enough to remain out of Muggle sight.”

“And you aren’t telling Harry that this is happening?” Molly asked Dumbledore, looking concerned.

“It will be safest for all involved if he receives no prior warning,” Dumbledore said. “It reduces the risk of discovery and intrusion from… others.”

As if in direct response to this decision, there was a loud, muffled screech from upstairs, followed by a shout of “BLOODY HELL, HEDWIG,” in Ron’s voice. Remus looked sideways at Sirius, who raised his eyebrows at Dumbledore and gestured dramatically towards the door.

“I will say it again,” Dumbledore maintained firmly. “Once he arrives at headquarters, you may answer his questions— within _reason_. But for now, it is safest that he remains in the dark. I do not want to overwhelm his mind with more information than is absolutely necessary.”

Molly nodded. But as Remus looked at Sirius, he rather thought Dumbledore was fighting a losing battle. Harry was not exactly known to happily abide any sort of restrictions placed upon him: he had always been desperate for information, always looked for clues, always kept digging until he found the answer to whatever mystery plagued his consciousness, despite the risk. And once he was here, with the twins, Remus was quite certain there’d be a new ear listening to snatches of confidential Order conversation. It was quite doubtful that Molly had managed to destroy all of Fred and George’s inventions: Remus had spent far too much time with James and Sirius at school to be convinced that the twins hadn’t harbored any backups.

“Well, we’re gonna need to arrange a lookout of sorts when we get him,” growled Moody, sipping from his hip flask. “The more of us the better, it’ll keep the boy protected, but large numbers are easier to detect. And we oughta take a different path back than we do there— flying a straight route is too obvious, it’s smarter if we zig-zag—”

“I’m with you for the lookout Mad-Eye, but I’m not trying to fly upside-down through a raincloud,” Tonks interrupted, conjuring a Muggle envelope, paper, and pen out of midair.

“Won’t some of the people abroad be back for that night, for Snape’s report?” Hestia said suddenly. “I’m sure one of them would be willing.”

“We’ll need at least two for maximum precaution,” Moody insisted. “Maybe more…”

“Well maybe not _more_ , as you said, large numbers _are_ easier to detect,” Tonks, mock-somberly, not looking up from the fake letter she was crafting.

“Two will suffice, I think,” Remus said decidedly. “Just to confirm the skies are clear.”

“Heavens, I’m not going to breathe easily until he’s here safe,” Molly laughed nervously. “Oh, Harry…” and Sirius sighed heavily, scowling at the table, and slumped farther down in his chair.

The meeting ended around midnight, and when Remus and Sirius finally got upstairs and closed Sirius’ bedroom door, Remus turned to face him.

“I’m sorry you can’t come to get Harry,” he said bluntly, and he meant it. Sirius looked at him warily for a moment, before shrugging.

“’S’okay, Moony,” he said. “I get it. High stakes mission, Harry’s safety comes first, I can’t exactly fly as a dog, so if we were ambushed and I was discovered to be working with you, you’d all be arrested, whatever. I get it.”

“Still,” Remus said cautiously, a bit floored by this slightly uncharacteristic maturity. “I’m… surprised you didn’t ask.”

“What d’you always say about choosing your battles?” Sirius grunted. “I’m taking your advice, for once. I reckon if I play my cards right now, once Harry’s here Dumbledore’ll relax, and maybe I can come with him to his hearing, as Padfoot. That’s when he’ll need the support most, after all.” And he ripped his robes off in one fell swoop, causing Remus to promptly forget how he was going to respond. Ripping his gaze from Sirius’ bare back, he turned on the spot, and slid into the bed fully clothed, averting his eyes while Sirius shrugged on a nightshirt. In truth, Remus thought it was very unlikely that Dumbledore would grant this request, but he could not find it in his heart to say so. So instead, he burrowed under the covers of their bed— yes _their_ bed— and lay awake until long after Sirius fell asleep.


	17. The Prodigal (God)son Returns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sirius: birth is a curse and existence is a prison  
> Harry: hi  
> Sirius: clap along if you feel like a room without a roof clap along if you feel like happiness is the truth clap along if you know what happiness is to you clap along if

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place during OotP Chapters 3- 6! Again, some dialogue is quoted to maintain story consistency.

_August 6th, 1995  
_ _12 Grimmauld Place, London, England_

The sun had not yet set as Sirius watched Remus and the rest of the guard prepare to go off and retrieve Harry from Privet Drive.

He had found Regulus’ old broomstick in the attic, and it was now clutched in Remus’ hands as he talked with Tonks, who was sporting spikey purple hair and dark blue eyes. She was laughing about something, twirling her broom absentmindedly, nearly knocking Dedalus Diggle off his feet with it more than once. Emmeline was standing next to Sturgis, who was jokingly challenging her to a rematch of their last Quidditch match against each other, which had been, of course, a little over twenty years ago—

“Oh, but Sturgis…” Emmeline said, her face impassive but her eyes glinting, “You’re a bit old…”

“I’m two years younger than you!” Sturgis laughed. “You’re the one who’s _forty_!”

Hestia Jones was jabbering excitedly with Dedalus Diggle and Elphias Doge, the three of them seemingly having formed a sort of Harry Potter fan club. Moody was ranting to a mildly amused Kingsley about ambush avoidance tactics and aerial dueling. And Sirius watched from the kitchen table, cheek pressed into the palm of his hand, hating all of them.

It was genuinely difficult to keep himself from stealing Moody’s invisibility cloak and soaring off on Buckbeak before they could even get there, or brewing himself a quick draft of Polyjuice Potion and going in Remus’ place— Remus didn’t even _like_ flying— and bloody hell, did they _really_ need this many people to go!? Harry didn’t know most of them, they just wanted to see the famous Harry Potter in the flesh, the boy who had alerted them to Voldemort’s return, the boy that Dumbledore heralded as the most important person in the world in the same breath that he denied him access to any information or magic at all. And for all of Dumbledore’s caution and supposed care for Harry, he wasn’t even _here_ , he wasn’t even involved in making sure he got back safe.

“Gregor and Patricia should be in place by now,” Kingsley said suddenly, checking his pocket watch— oh so _he_ had a pocket watch, just like Remus, huh? Did they all have pocket watches? Probably! It was important to know things like time when one actually has things to do, obligations to fulfill. They were just a tittering little group of prats with pocket watches off to fly the clear night sky, maybe get in a couple fights along the way, little one-offs that got their blood pumping a bit, and then they’d arrive to pick up Harry, who would say, _‘Merlin’s Beard! It sure is bloody brilliant to have ALL of you here, but I really do wish I knew what time it was!’_ and then in perfect coordination, they’d all pull out their stupid fucking little pocket watches that they all received on their seventeenth birthdays from their parents who loved them—

“Sirius?”

Sirius pulled his face off of his hand with some difficulty to see Remus looking down at him.

“Are you alright?”

“I’m absolutely _chuffed_ , thanks,” Sirius replied, saluting him as sarcastically as he could manage.

Remus frowned a bit, but clearly decided he didn’t have the time to address Sirius’ goading tone. “We’re leaving now,” he said, quite unnecessarily, as everyone else was very clearly filing up the stairs. “If all goes according to plan, we will return before the meeting begins.”

“I know,” Sirius muttered, annoyed. As if they hadn’t discussed every detail of Harry’s retrieval in every meeting hundreds of times.

“…Alright,” Remus sighed. “Well, I’ll see you—”

“Yep,” Sirius said, leaning back into his chair and staring up at the ceiling. He felt Remus’ gaze on him, but he just wanted him to go.

“Harry will be here before you know it,” Remus said softly. And as that statement sunk in, Sirius let his gaze drop, with the intention to say something perhaps not as snarky as everything else he had said— but Remus was already on the staircase, disappearing from the kitchen into the hallway above, with the rest of the guard.

He suddenly felt like massive git, which was an unwelcome addition to all of the other bitter, frustrated feelings festering inside him. He scowled at nothing, annoyed that Dumbledore wasn’t even here to witness him following his orders, though he wanted nothing more than to just jump up from the table and throw his arm over Remus’ shoulder— _“Let’s share a broom Moony, I’ll steer, you just try not to fall off, yeah?”_

Instead, he glared at the table, and set to work using his wand to slowly and deliberately disintegrate one of his parents’ old china sets. He assumed the sun was setting over time, that darkness was creeping in, but it didn’t make a difference here in the basement, where sunlight could not reach. 

Molly was the first one to bustle down into the kitchen, and seemed unsurprised to find him there. “Good, Sirius,” she said, reaching into the cupboards and pulling out bottles of wine and a jug of pumpkin juice. “Can you help me? People will be arriving soon, I imagine.”

“‘Course,” Sirius grunted, and, not moving from the table, waved his wand at another cupboard, and twenty or so dusty goblets soared out and scattered across the table. Molly placed the bottles down by hand: Sirius had noticed she did this sometimes when she was anxious— refrained from using magic to purposefully busy herself.

Order members arrived soon after— and before long, nearly everyone who was not off getting Harry was sitting around the table, drinking, talking animatedly with one another. The intrigue around Snape’s upcoming report mixed with the excitement of Harry’s impending arrival seemed to be giving everyone an extra jolt of energy.

“You know my niece went to the Yule Ball with him,” Lavanya Patil was cackling to Arthur. “And actually, my other niece actually went with _your_ son, did you know? Apparently neither of them were shown a very good time…” and she laughed as Arthur struggled to respond. Adrian Pine seemed to be trying to teach Bill Weasley some basic French for whatever reason, and Sirius entertained himself for a moment listening to Bill butcher the word “l’argent” over and over again. Molly was pacing back and forth, checking the time every two minutes, only pausing when Mundungus slunk in guiltily, seconds before Snape was to arrive. Sirius quite thought that if there hadn’t been anyone else in the room, she would have murdered him in cold blood, especially when he began smoking a pungent pipe right at the kitchen table.

And then, of course, Snape arrived. Sirius could almost _feel_ him show up, entering the room in a thick black cloak despite the August heat, holding himself in a stoic, impassive manner that was regal on Emmeline but hateful and self-obsessed on Snape. Everyone around the table shot him curious looks as he passed by them to the other end.

“Oh, Severus, you’re here,” Molly said hurriedly. “They’re running a bit late with Harry, but nothing to worry about I’m sure— they should be here soon—”

“Snape’ll wait for them, don’t you worry, Molly,” Sirius said loudly. “I’m sure he’s been preparing his big speech all day.”

“And your day, Black?” Snape asked softly, eyes glittering with malice. “How _is_ the cleaning going?”

“Why, looking for pointers?” Sirius hissed, feeling his cheeks burn just a bit. “I’d say start with your hair, could use a good wash.” Snape’s lip curled in anger, but he did not retort, perhaps because Bill and Adrian had suddenly come within earshot to retrieve the Ministry schematics from the locked cupboard. The room was quieter now: Lavanya and Arthur were now talking in hushed tones, and Hamza Rasheed was sitting silently, watching Snape with wary eyes. Molly was pacing again, back and forth in front of the kitchen door.

And then, suddenly, the mechanical clicking sound of the front door carried down the stairs. Everyone seemed to turn towards the staircase, listening intently to the addition of shuffling footsteps and low whispering from above.

“Harry,” Molly said at once, and Sirius shot up out of his chair without even planning to do so. Molly hustled up the stairs without another word, body relaxing in relief as she went. Sirius remained where he was, standing, staring after her, and Snape made a small sound like a quiet, derisive laugh. But Sirius did not care— he stood there, staring at the door, listening intently, but they were being quiet, and he could not pinpoint Harry’s voice amongst the many other whispers.

And then, appearing as one throng, the remainder of the Order paraded down the stairs, resting their broomsticks against the far wall. Sirius’ eyes found Remus: he looked happier than he had in a while, his graying hair a bit windswept, his cheeks flushed pink from the cold altitude of flight. His gaze met Sirius,’ and he strode across the room the meet him.

“Well?” Sirius demanded, searching his face.

“He’s here, he’s safe,” Remus confirmed, as the other members of the guard took their seats, pouring themselves some wine. “Molly brought him upstairs to be with Ron and Hermione.”

“Bet he loved to fly again,” Sirius sighed wistfully, thinking of watching Harry soar around the Quidditch pitch, what felt like a lifetime ago.

“I think he did,” Remus agreed.

“And you?” Sirius asked innocently, because all of a sudden, with Harry back, playful joking felt possible.

“I found it…” —Remus paused thoughtfully— “…cold.” Sirius barked a laugh— and then, looking at Remus’ tired, but slightly happy expression, he felt a tiny pang of shame, again, at his behavior towards him before they had left. For Harry was here now, just upstairs, he would see him shortly…

“Listen, Moony,” Sirius muttered. “About earlier—”

“While I’m sure this little side-conversation is of the _utmost_ importance,” Snape interrupted sneeringly. “I have Dumbledore’s orders to begin as soon as possible, if you wouldn’t… _mind_.”

“Our apologies,” Remus said calmly, but Sirius did not miss the slight pink shading in his cheeks as he sat down. Sirius on the other hand, turned towards Snape.

“And where exactly _is_ Dumbledore?” Sirius asked him, gesturing widely. “Your report is supposed to be quite the big deal— but, I guess he must have _more_ _important_ matters to attend to…”

“Actually,” Snape said softly, eyes glittering with malice. "I have already informed him of the events of tonight’s report. He often prefers private meetings when it comes to dangerous and confidential matters— oh, but of course, you would not know that. My apologies.” And his lip curled into a victorious smirk as Sirius felt himself flush.

“Alright,” Kingsley intervened firmly, as a few people exchanged various looks. “Do begin then, Severus, so we are _all_ up to speed.” And Sirius lowered himself back down into his chair, fuming, as Snape straightened himself at the head of the table, surveying the group of his supposed allies with complete and utter dislike.

“It is my job to uncover what the Dark Lord is planning,” Snape announced, in a silky voice, and every eye was fixed on him immediately. “Many of Dumbledore’s suspicions and guesses are based on information I receive directly from the mouths of Death Eaters, and from the Dark Lord himself.” He paused, apparently enjoying the effect this statement had on the group before him. “With every week, he grows stronger. He is patient. He does not want to go to war, not yet, not when there are so many other, quieter, smarter ways to obtain power.”

“Oh, I think Snivellus is still in love,” Sirius whispered to Remus, who shot him a look of weary exasperation in response.

“His network and influence continues to grow. Macnair has made excellent progress with the giants, where Hagrid and Maxime have so _clearly_ failed. The Dark Lord has also returned to his old fondness of the Imperius Curse, ordering many of his servants to cast them in his stead. He is hoping to infiltrate the Ministry in more ways than one— Lucius Malfoy has been ordered to use his financial sway and status within the government to gain access to those with political power. In this way, he can convince the Ministry to make decisions that benefit the Death Eaters, with none of them the wiser.” He paused again, before adding, “Lucius has also been given the task of collecting the prophecy, but only through the means of stealth. Dumbledore’s suspicions were correct— The Dark Lord is rapidly becoming fixated on filling the gaps of his knowledge, and uncovering the prophecy is his main objective. However, he is still not aware that another cannot collect it. He is still operating on misguided information, for now.”

The way Snape spoke about the prophecy was quite unsettling, but Sirius could not quite put his finger on why. It was the way his eyes shifted on the word, or maybe the way his lips thinned…

“So we’ll have to keep an eye out for Malfoy in particular, then,” Sturgis said thoughtfully. “Ah, the satisfaction of catching him red-handed…”

“Doubtful that we would,” Arthur said, voice tight. “He is particularly fond of tricking others into doing his dirty work for him.” And he and Molly exchanged a hardened look, as if it were somewhat personal for them.

“Speaking of,” Sirius said loudly, for it hadn’t seemed like any of the information Snape had shared was anything groundbreaking, or even new. “Given that you’re so well _connected_ , Snape, perhaps you’ll share with us if it _was_ indeed Voldemort who ordered the dementor attack on Harry?”

Everyone stopped speaking, and all eyes were on Snape once again. In the silence, Sirius thought he heard the sound of muffled shouting from many floors above, but no one in the room reacted.

“Your care for Potter is _touching_ , Black,” Snape sneered. “My condolences that you cannot act on it.”

“Excuse me?” Sirius exclaimed.

“That’s enough,” Emmeline said, looking curtly at the both of them. “Severus, if you’d answer his question, I can promise you many of us have been wondering the very same.” Snape glared at her, but he did not argue.

“As I have _just_ said, The Dark Lord is patient. He has other uses and plans for the dementors, and is willing to bide his time, is willing to slowly but surely exert his influence over them. He has not told me in so many words, but anyone who knows him would realize it is highly unlikely that he himself ordered the attack. This is because he has, of course, a… special interest in Potter.” And he made a face that clearly showed he didn’t know why anyone would find Harry special _or_ interesting. “He wants to understand the connection between them, past and present, and he has made it quite clear to all who serve him that he wants to be the one to end Potter’s life.”

Molly let in a sharp intake of breath.

“But the dementors wouldn’t kill Potter,” Moody growled. “They’d just suck out his soul.”

“Rendering him useless and unexploitable,” Snape said, sounding bored. “If The Dark Lord did indeed send the dementors, it would have been only because he expected the attack to fail. Potter is reckless and often acts without thinking— he would expect him to use illegal magic, and to be subsequently expelled and have his wand snapped,” he paused, as if Harry’s expulsion was a dream of his own, and then continued, “This would, of course, make him far easier to kidnap, to murder.”

“Well, no offense, Snape,” Sirius growled, with the intention of conveying as much as offense as possible, “But then you haven’t really told us anything _new_. Assuming the dementors don’t have their own private vendetta against Harry, I think it’s rather important that we know whether Voldemort or the Ministry ordered the attack!” Mundungus grunted, perhaps in agreement, but then his head dropped to the table with an audible thud.

“Perhaps the distinction matters less and less, Black,” Snape snapped.

“Indeed,” Emmeline mused, “If Lucius is interfering at the Ministry, could it be possible that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named ordered the attack, and the Ministry, in turn, under Lucius’ influence, ordered the dementors to carry it out?”

“A possibility,” Snape said, obviously unconvinced. “However, the fact remains that The Dark Lord’s current focus on the dementors is part of a desire to break his most loyal servants out of Azkaban.”

There was a silence.

“Brilliant,” Moody growled.

“It will take time,” Snape continued coldly. “But he wishes to be reunited with his most loyal servants.”

“So he doesn’t consider you one of them?” Sirius jabbed, before he could stop himself.

“Oh, but he does, Black,” Snape smirked menacingly. “I have played my part well. He does not suspect me. He simply hopes to grow his ranks, to obtain his old power, and beyond.”

“Fun,” Tonks muttered.

“Well, there isn’t much we can do about the dementors, is there?” Diggle squeaked. “Dumbledore’s trying his hardest to convince the Ministry they’re slipping out of their control, but they won’t hear it!”

“We’ll have to wait to see how they handle Potter’s trial,” Kingsley said grimly. Tears seemed to prick up in Molly’s eyes. Sirius looked away from her.

Once Snape finished, the remainder of the meeting was devoted, once more, to discussing guarding the prophecy. Sirius watched as they poured over charts, blueprints, and schematics, planning routes to follow, where to hide, new ways of getting in, all bending over backwards to protect this great prophecy, which involved Harry in a way apparently none but Dumbledore knew. And it was Harry that Sirius thought of, only upstairs, not knowing any of this, probably gathering only bits of information from what the twins had managed to overhear…

He did not know how long he had zoned out for, only that the sound of Molly opening the kitchen door alerted him to the fact that the meeting was over.

“I’m going to get the kids— good heavens, what are these dungbombs doing out here?” She exclaimed, bewildered, as people filed up the stairs around her.

“Maybe it was Kreacher,” Tonks said, wearing what she clearly thought was a face of innocence as she followed the Order up the stairs. Remus’ lips twitched, but he did not say a word as he too ascended onto the first floor. Arthur and Bill stayed hunched over the table, still pouring over the Ministry blueprints as if trying to extract a hidden meaning from them. Mundungus remained a motionless lump in his chair, peacefully snoring, as the remaining smoke from his pipe swirled around the ceiling above. Sirius walked over to the door, where Regulus’ old broomstick was still leaning against the wall, and picked it up, frowning at it. He stood there, for a moment, just holding it in his hands. Perhaps he should throw it away with the rest of the junk— and then he wondered, for the first time, what had happened to his own broomstick. He had ridden it after school when he could, but had then started to focus more on his motorbike, which he wondered with a slight shock if Hagrid still had— but of course he couldn’t ask him, not with him somewhere in the mountains, probably retreating from the giants if Snape’s report had been true…

And then, there was an enormous crash.

“Tonks!” Molly’s slightly muffled voice cried from above.

“I’m sorry!” Tonks’ voice wailed back. "It’s that stupid umbrella stand, that’s the second time I’ve tripped over—”

“ _FILTH! SCUM! BY-PRODUCTS OF DIRT AND VILENESS! HALF-BREEDS, MUTANTS, FREAKS, BEGONE FROM THIS PLACE! HOW DARE YOU BEFOUL THE HOUSE OF MY FATHERS, HOW DARE YOU EAT AT MY TABLE, HOW DARE YOU SLEEP IN OUR BEDS—”_

And Sirius was charging up the stairs, two at a time, his fury at Snape and his frustration at Dumbledore and his jealousy at not being able to have flown to get Harry tonight all rearing out of him unexpectedly at once, and he flew into the hallway to see Tonks dragging the troll’s leg umbrella stand off the floor, Molly running down the hallway stunning paintings with her wand, Remus tugging desperately on one of the curtains covering the shrieking portrait—

“SHUT UP, YOU HORRIBLE OLD HAG, SHUT _UP_!” He hollered, and he gripped onto the other curtain and pulled with all his might.

“ _YOOOUUUU!!!!!_ ” Her eyes strained against their sockets as if they were about to burst out. “ _BLOOD TRAITOR, ABOMINATION, SHAME OF MY FLESH!_ ”

“I SAID— SHUT— UP!” Sirius screamed, and he threw his entire body weight against the moth-eaten fabric. Remus leaned in towards him, eyes screwed up from the effort, but together, bracing themselves against the floor, they managed to drag the curtains shut, meeting in the middle as the horrible screeching died, snuffed out by the fabric. Chest heaving from the effort, Sirius straightened up, pushed his hair out of his eyes, and turned to look upon the boy standing before him, the boy staring at him in utter shock, the boy he had been longing to see all summer, ever since he’d left him in the Hospital Wing after Voldemort’s return.

“Hello, Harry,” Sirius said dryly, “I see you’ve met my mother.”

_— -_

That evening’s dinner was the best Sirius had experienced in ages.

Harry’s simple presence was already improving his mood, and after nearly getting impaled by a kitchen knife bewitched by Fred and George, his spirits seemed to increase even more. Molly’s clear disapproval of inviting Mundungus to stay for dinner was minimized by the fact that Harry was sitting there, with them all, alive and well, soul intact, inhaling food as if he had been starved for weeks. Sirius, who had been expecting a wand to his throat and a demand for answers the moment Harry had gotten through the door, let himself watch with contented affection as Harry laughed with Ron, as he stared in bewilderment at Tonks’ ever-changing nose tricks, as he shared a third helping of custard with Hermione, as he slumped down comfortably in his chair watching Ginny play with Crookshanks on the floor. But, as the last of the pudding was scraped away, Sirius couldn’t help himself.

“You know, I’m surprised at you. I thought the first thing you’d do when you got here would be to start asking questions about Voldemort.”

And Harry’s answering look of utter indignance was so intense that Sirius truly wished Dumbledore was there to see it.

“I did!” He cried, and he sat up abruptly, eyes wide and furious, all traces of drowsiness suddenly forgotten. “I asked Ron and Hermione, but they said we’re not allowed in the Order, so—”

“And they’re quite right,” Molly interrupted, her voice shaking with fury. “You’re too young.”

Sirius turned towards her. Dumbledore was not here, and Harry was _Sirius’_ godson. He had been so tired of Molly, fretting over Harry for weeks like he was some helpless child. He was fifteen years old, he had faced dementors and dragons, traitors and Death Eaters. He had defeated Voldemort as a baby and been revered, and fought him again as a teenager and been shunned. His very blood ran through Voldemort’s veins, his very life was involved a prophecy he didn’t even know existed. If it wasn’t for Harry, they would not be here right now, fighting back. He had been begging for answers all summer. And he deserved them.

And so Sirius fought for his godson.

He did not back down, not when Molly reminded him of Dumbledore’s cautionary warnings, not when she accused him of mistaking Harry for James, not when she implied that he was an irresponsible godfather, not when she stated that Harry was more her responsibility than his, not even when she pulled an alarmingly Snape-like move and used his time in Azkaban as proof that he hadn’t tried to be there for Harry.

And Remus’ eyes were on him the entire time. He did not seem to blink once throughout the entirety of the argument. And when he finally spoke in support of Sirius and Harry, Sirius felt a furious sense of smug, satisfying accomplishment, for he knew that with Remus’ approval, the battle had been won.

And so, finally, after Ginny forcibly removed by her mother, screaming with fury the entire time, Sirius turned to his godson, folded his arms, and finally asked the question he’d been dying to extend to him for over a month.

“Okay, Harry… what do you want to know?”

The answer to that was, it seemed, almost everything.

He asked about what Voldemort was doing, why he wasn’t openly murdering anyone yet, what the Order was doing, what the Order thought Voldemort was up to. He asked about the Ministry, about why they didn’t believe him, about Dumbledore’s continued insistence that Voldemort was back. And Sirius answered as best he could, and Remus did the same— and he suddenly got the sense that Remus, too, had maybe been feeling the sense of bitter injustice that came with keeping Harry in the dark, and this realization filled him with a strong, powerful feeling he could not quite place.

It was only when Harry asked what Voldemort was after, what the weapon was, that Sirius even thought about hesitating. He exchanged a look with Remus, but before either of them could get much farther, Molly finally had her way.

“You’ve given Harry plenty of information,” Molly snarled accusingly, after ordering them to bed. “Any more and you might just as well induct him into the Order straightaway!”

“Why not!?” Harry exclaimed, looking quickly from Sirius to Remus, determination and passion on every inch of his face. “I’ll join, I want to join! I want to fight—”

“No,” Remus said, and he spoke with such an air of authority it caught everyone’s attention at once. “The Order is comprised only of overage wizards— wizards who have left school,” he clarified, as Fred and George looked set to argue. He set his gaze on everyone before him, focusing especially on Harry. “There are dangers involved of which you can have no idea, any of you…” and he turned back to Sirius. “I think Molly’s right, Sirius. We’ve said enough.”

And in that moment, Sirius suddenly knew that Remus had been an excellent teacher. He could not find a way to argue with him, so he shrugged, and watched as Molly ushered her children, Hermione, and finally Harry, out of the room, and up to bed. Arthur followed behind her, snd Bill after him. Tonks stood up, yawning widely, and prodded Mundungus in the side— he seemed to have fallen asleep again, but he awoke at her touch, blinking blearily over his half-empty wine goblet.

“Well,” Tonks said, facing Remus and Sirius. “I like him.” The way she said it made Sirius feel a flare of pride, and Remus smiled quite softly.

“We should be off,” she continued. “C’mon, Mundungus, sober up.”

“I’m sober,” Mundungus slurred, nearly sliding backwards off his chair as he tried to stand. Tonks rolled her eyes.

“‘Course you are,” she said sarcastically, helping him up the stairs. She looked back at them when she reached the top, smiling. “Goodnight, you two.”

“Mind the umbrella stand on your way out,” Remus said quietly, lips twitching.

“Third time’s the charm,” Tonks replied, and winked at them both before disappearing through the door. Sirius affectionately watched her go.

“Well,” Remus said, once they heard the front door click shut behind her. “I thought that went as well as could’ve been expected.”

“Aside from Molly attacking my very character, I’d say so too,” Sirius said lightly, pulling a spoon from a nearly empty plate of rhubarb crumble, and licking it. Remus looked at him apologetically.

“You both care for Harry very deeply,” he explained, waving his wand at the dirty dishes: they began to clean themselves at once. “She just disagrees with you on what that care should mean.”

“Indeed she does,” Sirius muttered, as the clean dishes slid one by one into the cabinets above, and the pots and pans returned to their hooks on the ceiling. “I still think Harry should be allowed to know about the prophecy.”

“I disagree, actually,” Remus said, and with a flourish of his wand, the silverware began to sort itself into a drawer. “ _We_ don’t even know that much about the prophecy. You know Harry— if he discovers he has a connection to it, and we can’t provide him a satisfactory explanation, he’ll seek it out himself. I think Dumbledore’s right.”

“What do you think it’s about?” Sirius asked, before he could stop himself. Remus pursed his lips together, lowered his wand, and looked Sirius directly in the eye.

“I think that speculation will get us nowhere,” he said tiredly. “If Dumbledore thinks it necessary to share with us, he will.” And then, before Sirius could respond, Remus laid a gentle hand on his forearm, and continued, “Let’s go to bed, Padfoot.”

Sirius’ voice died in his throat, so he could only nod in response. The last of the dishes put themselves away, and the cupboards and drawers closed with soft, barely perceivable thuds. Sirius followed Remus all the way up to the fourth floor, and as he climbed into bed, Remus settling down beside him, and Harry sleeping floors below, for the first time in his life, for one beautiful moment, he was happy to call Grimmauld Place his home.


	18. Trees and Lightning; Safety and Nightmares

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three different days; the week before the trial.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a big thank you again to everyone who's taking the time to leave comments and kudos :') i appreciate it more than you'll ever know!

_August 7th, 1995  
_ _12 Grimmauld Place, London, England_

The morning after Harry arrived, Sirius awoke to find Remus already gone— off doing some sort of errand or another for the Order, Sirius was losing track. He lay there in bed for a moment, feeling suspiciously content at the fact that Remus’ side of the bed was still warm, and that Harry was a couple of floors below him, maybe still asleep. And then, at this thought of Harry, he sat up abruptly, got out of bed, and walked barefoot across his room to retrieve a pile of parchment, a quill, and some ink. Leaning his bent knee against to wall for balance, he lay a scrap of parchment on his thigh, and began to write.

> **_Dumbledore,_ ** ****
> 
> **_I have been following your_ ** **_orders_ ** **_advice to stay out of the public eye, and our Royal friend has been planting evidence of my sightings far from here. The risk of my exposure is low— therefore, I think it wouldn’t hurt to accompany my godson to his upcoming trial, as man’s best friend, of course. He deserves the support, and I’d like to give it to him. Let me know what you think._ **
> 
> **_Best,  
> _ ** **_Snuffles_ **

He re-read it a few times. Vague enough, he hadn’t mentioned anyone by name. He rolled up the letter, satisfied, and walked from his room in search for an owl. There was often one kicking around, what with the number of witches and wizards that filtered through the house day by day. And indeed, he found Tonks’ owl perched on the windowsill in his mother’s bedroom. He tied the letter to its leg, and watched with some amusement as it soared from the window with a grace that Tonks herself could never manage.

Buckbeak let out an annoyed squawk from behind him, and Sirius turned around to grin. “You hungry, ol’ boy?” he asked affectionately. Buckbeak glared at him, not moving from his spot atop Walburga’s broken bed. Sirius grinned wider, saluted him, and transformed into a dog, padding out of the room to search for rats.

He loved hunting rats.

It gave him such a cruel sense of satisfaction to stalk them as they scurried across the molding, in and out of breaks in the wall, to watch them think they were going to get away, escape from his jaws, before he pounced, pulling them from the floor by their tails. Sometimes Crookshanks joined in: he would slink from Hermione’s room and greet him with a purr, before darting behind a table or chair and returning with a squealing, wriggling figure clenched in his jaws.

Molly’s disapproval at the charade conflicted with her desire to rid the house of pests, so often when he and Crookshanks skidded into a room, on a high-speed chase, she did little more than sigh as Ginny laughed and the twins placed bets on which of them would catch the little rodent first.

And when they had captured enough, Sirius would return to his mother’s room, and drop the rats one by one into Buckbeak’s mouth, imagining that every single one of them was Wormtail.

Kingsley dropped in around mid-morning, having just returned from guarding the prophecy— Sirius had to rush downstairs to silence his mother at the sound of the doorbell, which people kept forgetting to avoid.

“Sorry Sirius,” Kingsley grinned, as he entered the front door. “Hestia’s just relieved me, so she’s got Moody’s cloak now, thought I’d leave a report for Dumbledore…”

“Anything exciting happen?” Sirius asked as they walked down the hall and descended into the basement. “Voldemort make a surprise appearance?”

“Not quite,” Kingsley chuckled, and although Sirius had never heard Kingsley say it, he did not flinch at the sound of Voldemort’s name. “But still, one hears very interesting things when invisible outside of the Department of Mysteries…” they entered the kitchen. Arthur was stirring a mug of coffee, apparently lost in thought; Bill was standing, poised to leave, cleaning his empty mug and shouldering an enormous bag.

“Hello Kingsley,” Bill said brightly as they entered. He passed him a long stretch of parchment from the tabletop, already halfway filled with multiple paragraphs, each in a different person’s handwriting. “Here to leave a report?”

“Indeed I am,” Kingsley said, accepting the parchment, and pulling a quill from his robes. “Where are you off to? Not another meeting with Ragnok, surely?”

“No, no,” Bill said. “I’m giving him some space for now, letting him cool off a bit. I’m just off to visit a friend…” And he turned to Arthur. “I’ll be back in a couple of hours, dad.”

“I’m sure you will,” Arthur said, still staring at his coffee, his mouth twitching slightly. “Give Fleur my regards.”

Bill left the kitchen, waving to Sirius as he went.

“I ran into a few Unspeakables this morning while I was invisible,” Kingsley said conversationally, scratching at the paper in front of him. “They were talking about Harry…”

“What about him?” Sirius asked, pulling a hunk of bread from a cabinet and biting into it.

“Well, I don’t know if you’ve looked at this morning’s _Prophet_ yet,” Kingsley said, pausing his writing to pull a newspaper from his robes and handing it to Sirius. “But there’s _still_ nothing about the dementor attack, his use of the Patronus, any of it. Thing is, within the Ministry, it’s all anyone’s talking about. You’d think it’s the trial of the century…”

“And yet, it’s just a bit of underage magic,” Arthur sighed. “Anyone else, and not a person would care.” Sirius swallowed an enormous chunk of bread.

“Well, this was Moira Hart and David Liberman, and I saw them going off into the Chamber of Love…” Kingsley said, writing again. “You know they must all have an enormous interest in Harry because of his connection to sacrificial protection. Hart’s on the Wizengamot, too, and I hear she pays attention to most trials, no matter how small…” he trailed off, now consumed with his report, scratching away at the tiny details that Dumbledore told them to painstakingly collect: anyone suspicious, any sounds or smells or tastes or even feelings, any temperature shifts, any shimmering mirages, anything that seemed out of place in the Department of Mysteries. However, as it seemed, _everything_ was out of place there. Sirius had never been, of course, but Remus described it as a place living up to its name.

The morning dragged on into the afternoon, which brought with it the arrival of Mundungus and a precarious stack of stolen cauldrons. The resulting explosion from Molly Weasley, who had been clearly craving an excuse to rip Mundungus apart ever since the dementor attack, led Kingsley to hastily leave the house; as Molly dragged Mundungus into the kitchen, screaming bloody murder, Sirius elected to ascend to the drawing-room, where the Weasley kids, Harry, and Hermione were cleaning.

There, to his absolute displeasure, he found Kreacher, who had, it seemed, finally made acquaintance with his godson. He, again, must’ve been skulking around trying to find heirlooms to save from their plunder, old trinkets and mementos from wizards past, evil the lot of them, as anyone moderately good was blasted from the tapestry, shunned from the family… and of course it was the tapestry that Kreacher was trying to protect.

He had avoided looking at his family tree ever since he got back— the last time he remembered paying it any attention was the night before he ran away as a sixteen-year-old: when he stood there one last time, looking at his name and picture, hanging like rotten fruit, decaying from the poison that traveled up its roots and through its branches… but Harry’s curiosity was impossible to ignore.

And so Sirius rattled off the names and dates, people he hated and who surely hated him, the awful things they did during their lives to get worshipped in a house as evil as this one. And the burned-off relatives were a reminder of those no longer welcome here— his own image was charred beyond recognition, and here he was, living in the home he had escaped, the home that had banished him, entrapped by the branches once more.

“Lestrange…” Harry whispered, looking at the name left of Andromeda’s burn mark, and the double line connecting to it. Sirius felt his stomach drop.

“They’re in Azkaban,” Sirius said curtly. “Bellatrix and her husband Rodolphus came in with Barty Crouch Junior— Rodolphus’ brother, Rabastan, was with them too.”

Harry gaped at him. He glanced at Bellatrix’s tiny image, and then back to Sirius, looking slightly ill. “You never said she was your—”

“Does it _matter_ if she’s my cousin?” Sirius snapped, because suddenly he felt like a teenager again, hearing whispered news that his family members were involved in an anti-Muggle attack— suddenly he was twenty-one, being arrested, as Aurors muttered, _“Well his brother was a Death Eater, too, wasn’t he, died just two years ago.”_ And Bellatrix, oh— he hated her perhaps more than anyone else. “As far as I’m concerned, they’re not my family,” he continued, his words biting. “ _She’s_ certainly not my family. I haven’t seen her since I was your age, unless you count a glimpse of her coming into Azkaban. D’you think I’m proud of having relatives like her?”

“Sorry,” Harry said hastily, flushing a bit. “I didn’t mean— I was just surprised, that’s all—”

“It doesn’t matter, don’t apologize,” Sirius interrupted, already regretting the way he spoke, because he hadn’t _meant_ to lash out at Harry, just like he never meant to lash out at Remus, but it was something about this house, this _stupid_ , awful house, that made his anger flare without warning, only to slink back into shameful brooding once it had been acted upon.

And so he tried to explain this to Harry, explain this house and how badly he wanted to leave it— and in that vein, he brought up the possibility of escorting him to the trial, for Dumbledore was sure to reply to his letter soon, and surely Harry needed the moral support, the assurance that he would be cleared of all charges—

“But if they do expel me,” Harry said, his voice quiet. “Can I come back here and live with you?”

The question seemed to suck all of the air out of Sirius’ lungs. He looked down at his godson, a near clone of his best friend, looking at him back with those green, pleading eyes. How could he explain to Harry that that was all he had ever wanted? For them to be a family?

“We’ll see,” he said, trying to smile, but his throat felt tight.

That night, when everyone was asleep, Sirius snuck back down to the drawing-room, wand alight. He made his way over to the burn that marked his Uncle Alphard, the man who had left nearly everything he had to Sirius when he died; the burn that marked Andromeda, who loved Tonks more than anything in the world; many more burns, higher up, people he never learned about, people who had fled the family long before Sirius had even been born, people who were long dead, but maybe had had children— he would never know.

_“Can I come back here and live with you?”_

Sirius pulled the chair out from underneath the rattling writing desk, and sat down on the ground, placing a sheet of parchment on the rotting, wooden seat. He dipped a quill in a dust-covered ink bottle, and let it drip onto the paper.

He thought of Alphard again. And then he thought of Harry, and of Remus. Both of them in their beds. The last remnants of the Marauder family, the people who had taught Sirius the meaning of home. He lowered his hand— the quill scratched across the blank document as he wrote the title line:

> **_THE LAST WILL AND TESTAMENT OF SIRIUS ORION BLACK III_ ** ****

Perhaps it was time to plant a new tree.

— -

_August 9th, 1995  
_ _12 Grimmauld Place, London, England_

With the full moon arriving tomorrow evening, Remus had already felt the exhaustion settle into his bones.

It was _much_ better with Wolfsbane potion, of course, which Snape had dropped off in a series of vials nearly a week ago. Remus had accepted the vials with thanks, as Sirius had hovered behind him, glowering at Snape from over his shoulder like some sort of guard dog.

He drank today’s dose, recoiling at the awful taste, but relaxing as it hit his stomach: a soft, cooling sensation seemed to travel through his limbs, the tightness in his muscles easing up just enough, the pounding in his head dulling to a series of manageable twinges. He put the empty goblet away, and began to walk up the staircase; he had guard duty off for the next few days, of course, and was thinking perhaps he may lie down, just for an hour.

However, he only made it as far as the second-floor corridor before running into a rather bizarre scene.

Just outside the drawing-room stood an enormous grandfather clock that had, until this morning apparently, been blocked by a moth-eaten folding screen.The screen had clearly been discarded; Sirius, Harry, Hermione, and Ginny stood on one side of the clock, while Molly, Fred, George, and Ron stood on the other. Molly, Sirius, and the twins all had their wands out: George’s hair was smoking.

“Hello,” Remus greeted them, a bit amused, as he approached. “What are you—”

“Moony, don’t!” Sirius barked, and he shot out his arm, grabbing a fistful of Remus’ robes, holding him back from the clock, which abruptly shot a lightning bolt across the hallway with a thunderous crack.

Remus blinked at the singe mark, and then turned to George’s smoking head. “I’m assuming you made this particular discovery?”

“Nearly blasted my ears off,” he grinned.

“Definitely got your eyebrows,” Fred said happily. “Tough break, now I’m _absolutely_ better looking.”

“That’d be the first time in your life, wouldn’t it?”

“I think you’re both equally hideous,” Ginny piped in cheerfully, and Harry snorted.

“Kids,” Molly admonished, but her voice was affectionate. She looked up at Remus. “We seemed to have triggered a jinx by removing the screen, it won’t let anyone pass without shooting them straight through with lightning.”

“Hmmm,” Remus murmured. He was quite tired, but his curiosity was a bit piqued— and, of course, the lightning bolt was standing in between him and the way to Sirius’ bedroom. “Have you tried _Finite Incantatem_?”

“Yes,” Molly sighed. “And every other counter-jinx or spell I could think of—”

“I tried _Protego_ ,” Fred sighed. “To try and get it to electrocute itself.”

“And it didn’t work,” Remus said, mouth twitching knowingly.

“No, it deflected all wonky, nearly got Kreacher when he stuck his head out of the cupboard—”

“Wouldn’t be surprised if he rigged it,” Sirius said distastefully. “Got tired of trying to sneak all the heirlooms out from under our noses, so he’s switching tactics, going on the offensive…” Fred and George laughed, but Remus took a cautious sidestep, staring intently at the clock. He enjoyed this sort of stuff: figuring out an object’s secrets— it was like a puzzle, one that he could solve if he thought hard enough.

“ _Specialis Revelio_ ,” he murmured softly, pointing his wand at the clock. Seven different shimmering patterns emerged like ghosts, each moving in different direction, rippling at a different speed, shadows of the spells cast upon them decades ago. “Hmmm.”

“Hmmm, indeed,” Sirius said somberly, and when Remus shot him a scathing look, he actually grinned.

“Ooooh, I recognize one of those!” Hermione interjected breathlessly, staring at the fading shadows with a look of utter delight. “Summer before third year, I read this fascinating book on the magical measure of time, and—” but she suddenly silenced herself even before Harry stepped rather obviously on her foot. Ginny looked at them curiously, but Remus was still focusing more on the clock itself.

“It’s broken,” he said decidedly.

“I’m so thankful you decided to lend us your expertise,” Sirius sighed.

“I think that the integrity of each spell was bound to the gears' connection,” Remus continued, staring intently through the glass of the clockface. “When you moved the partition, a gear broke, perhaps slipped, the balance of spells was suddenly unbalanced, and it created reaction—” everyone was staring at him in a rather unfocused sort of way, except Hermione, who looked like she had half a mind to start taking notes.

“Can we fix it?” Molly asked grimly.

“I do believe so,” Remus said. And then, feeling a weird flare of energy amongst the weary pain, he turned to Sirius. “This is definitely a multi-person job.”

“I’d love to be your teaching assistant,” Sirius grumbled.

“Well what I think what we need is…” he frowned at the clock. “…Some way to divert the bolt so I can reach the door and repair the gears…”

“Oh— brilliant,” and suddenly, manic grin started to spread across Sirius’ face. “We’ll distract it.”

“What?” Hermione and Molly asked in unison.

“Yeah… if we all run back and forth in front of the clock, it won’t know who to shoot at…” Sirius said mischievously, and Fred cackled.

“Won’t it just shoot straight and hope it hits someone?” Hermione asked anxiously.

“Hang on, it could be like a boggart, couldn’t it?” Harry mused, looking at Remus. “Too many people at once confuses the spell?”

“Well, there’s also a possibility it’ll shoot out multiple at once,” Remus frowned, and Fred laughed even harder. But suddenly Sirius grasped his shoulder.

“It’s like— Blimey, Moony, it’s what happened to my bike, sixth year!”

The memory came flooding back. Sirius had run into a couple of problems when charming his motorbike— the one time when it spontaneously fell apart in midair, the time when it shot off on a joyride of its own, the time when the gas tank exploded out the side and nearly took out the bleachers on the Quidditch pitch— and that one time, after Sirius had crashed into the side of the mountains near Hogsmeade, that every time he started it up it shot bolts of lightning at him—

“It is… similar…” Remus murmured. “But these spells are built into the integrity of the clock, it wasn’t a Muggle object to start…”

“You bewitched a Muggle motorbike?” Fred exclaimed, grinning. “Blimey, don’t tell dad.”

“Why?” Sirius smirked. “Think he’d report me?”

“Actually, I think he’d ask you for the schematics—”

“Fred,” Molly scowled. Harry and Ron exchanged a guilty look.

“What did we use with it?” Remus asked Sirius. “A conduction charm? I suppose— the cases are quite different but if—”

“Let’s try it,” Sirius said, shaking back his sleeves as he lifted his wand arm. He shot Remus a look Remus hadn’t seen in a while— his eyes, so dulled and haunted by Azkaban, seemed to be dancing with shadows of life.

“Alright,” Remus said firmly. “Everyone, stand back.” Everyone did so. “Ready, Sirius?”

“Born ready,” Sirius responded.

“Alright… three… two… one… GO!”

Sirius jumped in front of the clock and roared, “ _FULGURIS EPOTO,_ ” just as the lightning bolt shot towards him. It hit the tip of his wand, crackling furiously in the air, but the wand seemed to absorb the energy, holding the bolt in a sort of suspension, still crackling but unable to retreat nor surge forward—

Remus leaped forward and ripped open the clock face, exposing the gears, which were shuddering against each other, and yes, one was stuck, wedged into the other— no wonder _Reparo_ hadn’t worked on its own, this was far more complicated, what with the magical properties of the material—

“CAN’T HOLD THIS FOREVER, MOONY!” Sirius bellowed.

“Sorry,” Remus said hastily, and pointed his wand at the gears. “ _Reparo reglutino… Antiquorium novellus… Fulguris desistia… Horologium tempus…_ ” the gears sparked at he continued, seeming to shake, and finally, they shivered into place, there was a clicking sound, and the bolt of lightning vanished—

“OUT OF THE WAY!” Sirius cried, and nearly flattened Hermione as he sprinted into the drawing room, towards the far wall, his wand crackling with electricity. Remus ran with him, ripped aside the now doxy-free curtains, and wrenched open the window. Sirius nearly threw himself out into the open air in his haste— he pointed his wands to the heavens and cried, “ _FULGURIS EXSOLVO_!” The pressure of the bolt’s energy was released— lightning blasted from Sirius’ wand into the sky, the force of it all pushing him backwards into Remus’ arms and sending them halfway across the room, landing smack against the rattling desk.

“Oh dear!” Molly cried, and rushed into the room, everyone else at her heels. “Are you two alright?” But Remus barely noticed, because Sirius was laughing into his shoulder, pushing off his chest to righten himself.

“That was _wicked_!” George exclaimed. “How come you didn’t teach us that?”

“Because it wasn’t in the fifth year curriculum,” Remus said matter-of-factly, very aware that Sirius had now thrown an arm around his shoulders. “This is seventh year.”

“But we did it in sixth!” Sirius boasted.

“That wasn’t nearly as powerful as this,” Remus said fondly.

“You say that,” Sirius said, his laughter dying down, but still grinning. “But I seem to remember James nearly starting a forest fire—”

“He did!?” Harry exclaimed eagerly, as Ron and Ginny laughed.

“‘Course he did, Moony here had to put it out,” Sirius said affectionately, and then, reached up and ruffled Remus’ hair. “Our hero.”

Remus had not planned on blushing in front of this many people, most of whom had been his students, but his brain had flashed to that moment, so many years ago—

_“When we’re together, it’s electrifying,” Sirius had crooned._

_“Shut up Padfoot, help me hide the burn marks on these trees—”_

_“Our love burns for you,” James joined in, in horrible falsetto._

_“This was your fault, what happened to your aim, I thought you were a Quidditch player?”_

_“You wound me, Moony. Sirius, mate, give him a snog, maybe he’ll settle down…”_

“Well, thank you, Remus,” Molly said wearily. “That might be the most dangerous—” she paused, and looked at him closely. “Are you alright?”

“Oh,” Remus said quickly. “Just a full moon tomorrow, that’s all.” Sirius, still wrapped around his shoulder, frowned at him.

“Let’s get you off to bed then, yeah?” He said. “A hero’s fight deserves a hero’s rest…”

“Hush,” Remus muttered, rolling his eyes, but he allowed Sirius to pull him from the room as the twins clustered together, whispering excitedly about the prankable uses of lightning. They walked, side by side, down the hallway; past Kreacher, who was hunched in the shadows by the drawing-room door, pulling a large golden locket out of the past days’ sacks of rubbish and sliding it into his loincloth; past the grandfather clock, which was ticking away merrily, as if it had never known dysfunction; up the staircase, and then the next one, and then the next one, and then the next one… and it seemed with each level, the heaviness in Remus’ bones increased, and he remembered again that he had originally had an intention to nap, before the high stakes, energy-inducing fiasco that had been Sirius fighting a bolt of lightning…

“Need me to help you into bed?” Sirius snickered, when they reached the bedroom. Remus shot him a look.

“You’re certainly in a good mood,” he said.

Sirius shrugged. “Just got in a bit of fighting, a bit of reminiscing, and I reckon I might get a chance to get out for Harry’s trial.”

Remus stiffened, halfway under the sheets. He did not look at Sirius. “Did Dumbledore answer your letter?” He asked carefully, trying to sound neutral.

“No, not yet,” Sirius shrugged. “But that means he hasn’t said no, has he? I reckon he’ll owl me soon— and if he doesn’t, well, that’s not a no either, is it?”

Remus paused, but made a decision. He was not going to ruin Sirius’ happiness. Not now, not when it had been such a long time, and so fighting against every instinct he had to tell Sirius that bringing Harry to the trial would be reckless, and absolutely not worth the risk, he changed the subject. It was a selfish move, a selfish move that he didn’t want to be the one to tell Sirius the inevitable, but he just couldn’t. So instead, he waited, and said, “That was some good spellwork.”

“Thank you, Professor,” Sirius crowed pompously. “I’m _really_ trying to get an O on my Defense NEWTs, just like you!”

“Well, you got an O on everything else,” Remus reminded him, sliding into the cool sheets.

“And look where it got me,” Sirius said, and his smile seemed to slip, just a bit. “Back where I started.”

“I’m here, too,” Remus reminded him. It came out much too gently. Sirius blinked.

“You are, aren’t you?” He murmured curiously. He paused, and then said, “You know, you didn’t have to help us the day before the bloody full moon.”

Remus’ eyes were already closed. “It was… fun,” he mumbled. Sirius chuckled softly, and it was to this sound that Remus drifted off to sleep, this sound that filled his body with a warm sense of hope.

— -

_August 10th, 1995  
_ _12 Grimmauld Place, London, England_

The Weasley kids, Harry, and Hermione were all in bed. Remus had transformed hours ago, and was curled up in Regulus’ room, with the door locked— this felt unnecessary, for when he was on the potion, he truly was harmless, but he insisted anyways. Sirius himself was sitting at the kitchen table, Crookshanks in his lap, while Molly and Arthur talked about their children. He would tune in and out of their conversation, unintentionally. It was something to do, something to occupy his time, so he wouldn’t have to go upstairs and sleep alone.

“I’m just nervous about her,” Molly was whispering. “She was possessed by You-Know-Who, after all… what if he remembers her…?”

“That was different, Molly dear,” Arthur said assuringly. “Dumbledore told us, it wasn’t him, it was a— a memory of him, wasn’t it… and it’s gone, it’s long gone…”

“I know, I know,” Molly agreed anxiously. “It’s just… her birthday’s tomorrow and I wanted to do something special, but I’m nervous to do a big party… what with Harry’s trial the next day, it feels so inappropriate…”

“Harry won’t care,” Sirius found himself saying; they looked over at him, surprised. “In fact,” Sirius continued, “he’d probably welcome a distraction.”

Molly bit her lip nervously. “Maybe… maybe we’ll do the cake at lunch.”

“I’m sure Ginny’ll love that,” Arthur said kindly, and he cupped her face so tenderly that Sirius suddenly felt like he shouldn’t be there.

But then, there was a knock at the door— loud enough to carry down to the basement somehow, but soft enough not to wake any of the portraits in the hallway. Molly glanced over at Sirius, frowning.

“Are you expecting anyone?” She asked. Sirius shrugged in response. So many people came in and out of the house on a daily and nightly basis that he had ceased to keep track of who was supposed to show up when. Molly stood up, and went upstairs, returning moments later with none other than Albus Dumbledore.

Sirius shot out of his seat.

“Good evening,” Dumbledore said pleasantly, as Molly lit a fire beneath a large tea kettle. “I hope you’re all well.”

“We're brilliant,” Sirius said, careful to hide the sarcasm in his tone. “Did you get my—”

“What brings you in tonight, Albus?” Molly asked, summoning four teacups from the cabinet. “If you’d like to talk to Harry, I’m afraid he’s already in bed, but I’m sure I could wake him if it’s important—”

“That won’t be necessary,” Dumbledore said. Sirius frowned— Dumbledore had still not made a single attempt to speak with Harry in the four days he had been here. “I am here, however, to discuss the details surrounding his hearing.”

Molly and Arthur exchanged a nervous look, but sat down, watching him intently.

“It is without a doubt that Cornelius Fudge will be in attendance. He has become rather invested in this particular case, as you can imagine. Coincidentally, I am quite invested myself,” He continued, smiling serenely, but his voice was growing in power. “So I will of course be at the Ministry, to offer my help, if I am needed.” Molly looked like an enormous weight had been lifted off her shoulders— she was visibly relieved. “I have also been in touch with Arabella Figg, who witnessed the entire attack. There is more than enough evidence to exonerate Harry for his supposed crimes. The law is behind him.”

“What makes you think Fudge is gonna follow the law?” Sirius barked. “How do we know Lucius Malfoy isn’t at his bedside right now, Imperiusing him to declare Harry guilty?”

“I still believe Cornelius is acting of his own accord,” Dumbledore said heavily. “Which is, of course, little comfort. But as this is a case of underage magic, it lies within the jurisdiction of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. I have spoken extensively with Amelia Bones. You know her, as I do— despite Cornelius’ pressure, she is steadfast, firm, and fair. She will lead Harry’s questioning, and I am confident she will conduct the trial with impartiality and integrity.”

That was probably true. Sirius had met Amelia a couple of times— Edgar, one of her younger brothers, had been in the Order, of course, before he, his wife, and their three young kids were slaughtered by Death Eaters. Amelia had spoken at their funeral— he had not seen her shed a single tear, and despite her parents, and now her brother’s family getting murdered, she had refused to go into hiding. The event was depressing and long— James and Lily hadn’t been able to attend, what with being in hiding themselves, and Wormtail hadn’t come either, which at the time Sirius had subscribed to weakness. The only other of the Mauraders who had shown up was Remus, who sat on the other side of the crowd, on the outskirts, and Sirius had watched him intensely, just like he had at the McKinnons’ funeral, looking for any sign of guilt, and signs that Remus had betrayed this very family to Voldemort… the thought made him bitter with regret.

To think, Amelia Bones became the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement months later, succeeding Barty Crouch Senior, only after Sirius had been thrown in Azkaban… he wondered, would _she_ have given him a trial? Would she have given him a chance to clear his name? And would it have even done any good? Sirius had been so mad with grief, with fury, unable to string two sentences together…

“Would you like to take him?” Arthur asked Dumbledore. “I was thinking I would go into work early, and bring him with me, but if you want to—”

“I think Harry would be very relieved to go with you,” Dumbledore said kindly, and Sirius cleared his throat.

“Dumbledore,” he said loudly. “Did you receive my letter?”

Dumbledore looked at him, a bit sadly. “I did,” he said heavily.

“And?” Sirius demanded, already knowing what the answer would be, but furiously not accepting it, not until—

“I am very sorry,” Dumbledore said gently. “But my position on the matter has not changed. I think it would be incredibly unwise for you to accompany Harry to the Ministry.”

Molly shot Sirius an incredulous look, but he barely registered it.

“Dumbledore,” he said, unable to control his voice from rising with fury, “I have done what you asked. I have stayed in this house. The Ministry thinks I am in Tibet. My _godson_ is going to be put on trial— it is _not_ unreasonable to request to accompany him!”

“It is not unreasonable,” Dumbledore sighed. “I would have, frankly, been shocked if you hadn’t asked me. But I implore you to think of Harry’s position right now—”

“What do you know of Harry’s position?” Sirius exclaimed. “You haven’t even seen him since he’s been back!”

“I meant within the current eyes of the law,” Dumbledore said unflinchingly. “If you were to be recognized, how do you think that would impact him? On his way to a trial where his innocence is up for debate?”

“Don’t you think if the Ministry knew my Animagus form, it’d be in every paper across the country by now!?” Sirius demanded.

“You know as well as I do that the Ministry is interfering with the _Prophet_ , Sirius,” Dumbledore said softly. “We do not know the extent or lack of their knowledge, and it would be imprudent to play with the odds.”

“I should say so!” Molly cried. “The number of Aurors in that building, Sirius! How do you think Harry’d feel if you were arrested right in front of him? And knowing Fudge, he’d be thrown in Azkaban by association—”

“Molly,” Dumbledore interrupted softly, and she stopped talking at once. He turned back to Sirius, regret in his eyes.

“Harry wants me there,” Sirius spat.

“Harry loves you,” Dumbledore replied sadly. “He would want you to stay safe.”

Dumbledore did not stay long after, but Sirius left the kitchen before he departed, unable to look at him any further, fuming as he climbed the stairs. What did Dumbledore know of James’ son? Harry was like his father, he didn’t fret over safety, he didn’t mind a good risk, a rule broken or bent every once in a while— he had looked grateful at the prospect that Sirius might accompany him, hadn’t he, not worried in the slightest! It would have been exhilarating to be right under the Ministry’s noses, would have perhaps distracted Harry from his own anxiety—

“No… please… _please_ …”

Sirius paused at the sound. He was on the third floor, right outside Harry and Ron’s bedroom. Frowning, he stepped closer to the door.

“No,” someone moaned from inside. “No, Cedric… please… please don’t kill him, please— PLEASE— NO, _NO_ , CEDRIC—!” the moaning had grown into a shout, and Sirius had unlocked and wrenched open the door before realizing what he was doing. Light pooled into the dark room, revealing two twin beds. On one of them was Harry, tossing and turning in his sheets, and on the other was Ron, sitting up, fully awake, watching him. At the sound of the door, though, he turned away from Harry and towards Sirius, squinting into the light.

“Mum,” Harry cried. “Dad, he’s killed him, he’s killed Cedric…”

“What’s going on?” Sirius demanded. Ron rose off of his bed, and padded barefoot to the door, holding up a hand to quiet him.

“It’s okay,” Ron whispered. “He’s fine, he’s just having a nightmare.”

“Well, why don’t you wake him up?” Sirius asked, a bit harshly.

“This—er— happens a lot,” Ron said, shifting uncomfortably. “I can’t wake him up every time, or he’d never get any sleep. It’ll be over soon.”

“He's dead,” Harry sobbed— and it was with a horrible lurch that Sirius realized that yes, Harry was actually crying, actually sobbing— “Mum, he’s gonna kill me too, he’s gonna kill me, mum…”

“It sounds bad,” Sirius said, and he felt his voice crack.

“He’s, um… he’s had worse, to be honest,” Ron muttered, following Sirius’ gaze to Harry’s fidgeting figure. “I know when to wake him up. It’s okay.”

Harry moaned again, but it was softer now, muffled by his pillow. Sirius felt as though someone had gutted him. He had never seen Harry cry before— he had gotten close, after he escaped the maze, as he was telling them what had happened, but he had never quite let himself get there. Now however, uninhibited by conscious restraint, tears were staining his cheeks.

“Alright,” Sirius said hoarsely. “Get some sleep, then.” And he turned to go, but Ron took a step out of the bedroom, stopping him.

“Uh, Sirius,” Ron murmured, looking at Sirius awkwardly. “Sorry just— maybe don’t… bring it up with him. He doesn’t really like— I mean, maybe it’s different with you,” he added hastily. “But he really, erm— he doesn’t like talking about it.”

Sirius nodded. He thought of his own nightmares about Azkaban. He understood the feeling.

“Thanks,” Ron sighed, relieved. “Well, uh… goodnight.”

“‘Night,” Sirius muttered. Ron slumped back into the room, and the bolt clicked shut. Sirius stood there, staring at the door, listening, but apart from some quiet moans, it appeared that the worst of the dream had passed.

Sirius’ venomous anger towards Dumbledore seemed to triple. Turning on his heel, he marched up the remainder of the stairs, past his room, past Regulus’ room, where Remus was curled up, fast asleep in his wolf form. Sirius, however, would not be able to sleep tonight. Halfway up the stairs to the attic, he transformed into a dog— Buckbeak would be needing more rats to eat, and at the moment, that was the only useful thing Sirius could seem to do.


	19. With Whom the Law Sides

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry's trial and the aftermath. Sirius' only hobby is brooding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some dialogue is quoted from OotP Chapters 7 & 9 to maintain canon consistency.

_August 12th, 1995  
_ _12 Grimmauld Place, London, England_

The morning of Harry’s trial, Remus woke up, fully alert, long before the sun was due to rise. It wasn’t surprising— yesterday having been the day after the full moon, he had spent most of it fast asleep, rising only for dinner before returning to bed once more. But despite the achiness still lingering in his bones and muscles, his mind was alert, wired, rejecting rest. He slid out of bed as quietly as he could and, assuring that Sirius was indeed asleep, changed into a fresh set of robes. He walked downstairs, slowing down as he passed Harry’s bedroom door— he hesitated— and then continued on down to the first-floor hallway.

It was there that he paused, suddenly wary, for he heard what seemed to be the sound of footsteps. Stilling, he turned his wand light towards the door, startling the figure that was coming out of the darkness— she jumped with surprise and fell backwards— Remus saw the umbrella stand sitting mockingly behind her back foot and realized what was going to happen— he whipped out his wand—

 _“Arresto Momentum!”_ Remus hissed, and Tonks’ fall was slowed enough that he could grab onto her arm and pull her back to her feet. They stood there for a second, vigilant, preparing to pounce on Walburga’s Black’s portrait if need be, but the house remained silent. Tonks deflated in relief.

“S-Sorry Remus,” she yawned, grinning apologetically. She had long curly platinum blonde hair today, and her eyes seemed to be bright, primary multicolor rainbows.

“No worries,” Remus whispered back, smiling warmly. “I didn’t mean to startle you. How was guard duty?”

“It was a-a-alright,” Tonks yawned again, as they made their way down the hallway. “I probably shouldn’t have done the night shift after working all day though, I had to keep shooting reviving spells at myself just in case… and then I started getting really jittery, you know…”

Remus snorted as they descended down the basement steps. “Yes, you aren’t really supposed to use them in succession like that.”

“Well, I couldn’t exactly brew a cuppa in the middle of the Department of Mysteries,” Tonks laughed. “But I— oh, morning, Molly, Arthur!”

They had reached the kitchen, and it seemed that Remus hadn’t been the only one who had woken up early. Molly Weasley was leaning against the cabinets, sporting a purple dressing gown and a look of utter anxiety. Arthur was sitting at the table, fully dressed in Muggle clothes, frowning at a series of documents: they both looked up when Remus and Tonks entered the room.

“Good morning,” Molly mumbled, sounding like she had a bad cold. She did not ask why Remus was awake so early— it was, after all, the same reason she was. “Can I get either of you anything?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Tonks said brightly, but Molly seemed to take in the dark circles under her eyes and handed her a large goblet of pumpkin juice, anyways. Tonks accepted it with one hand as she summoned the list of reports with her wand— the parchment unfurled on the table, and Tonks nearly upturned an ink bottle as she began to write.

“Sturgis take over for you?” Arthur asked, still reading his document. Tonks nodded, still scratching away.

“Yeah, he’s got the morning shift for today,” she said. “Thank Merlin he’s always on time, I was about three minutes away from blacking out where I stood. And then I didn’t want to risk Disapparating because there were a few Unspeakables that showed up early— _what_ they’re doing at this hour, who knows… but I just went to the Auror’s office, pretended like I was picking up some work, and who’s there, like he was waiting for me, but Rufus Scrimgeour…”

Remus was momentarily distracted by Sirius slumping down the stairs and entering the room, wearing robes of quite flattering dark green and a tight-lipped expression. Molly eyed him warily as he crossed the room, and tossed himself into the chair next to Remus. Tonks glanced at him, and then towards Arthur.

“What uh… what time’s the trial again?” She asked sleepily.

“Nine,” Arthur said, putting down the document at last, and taking a sip of tea. “We should be back by lunch.” The simplicity of this statement clashed oddly with the stakes that hung from it, and Remus felt a sharp twinge of anxiety on Harry’s behalf. When Remus was his age, being expelled from Hogwarts was always his biggest fear— for if anyone discovered his secret, he would surely have to be. He still remembered the crippling, gutting terror of waking up his fifth year to find that he had nearly killed Snape… he still remembered Dumbledore telling him that it was Sirius’ poor judgment, that he, not Remus, would be punished, that Snape would be sworn to secrecy… and how he had ran from the meeting to the boy’s bathroom and proceeded to vomit for what felt like an hour, shaking like a leaf, hunched on the cold stone floor, refusing to come out for all of Sirius’ pleading, only leaving when James came in on his own and practically dragged him to their dormitory… and months after that, every time he caught Snape’s eye, his insides would shrivel in shame, in regret, in fear… the nausea-inducing dread of the possibility that one word from Snape, and he’d be forced to leave Hogwarts forever…

Molly leapt to her feet, startling Remus out of his reverie. He followed her gaze to see Harry standing in the doorway. He, like Arthur, was dressed in Muggle clothes, his T-shirt rather rumpled on his skinny frame, his hair sticking up in every direction. His face was ashen, his eyes dull— he looked almost ill.

“Breakfast,” Molly said quickly, and whipped out her wand, bustling over towards the fire. Remus glanced sideways at Sirius, who was watching Harry with an unreadable expression on his face.

“M-m-morning, Harry,” Tonks yawned, stealthily vanishing the parchment in front of her, hiding it from his view. “Sleep all right?”

“Yeah,” Harry said, his face blank. Sirius shifted in his seat, still watching him.

“I’ve b-b-been up all night,” Tonks yawned again, and then gave him a small, friendly smile. “Come and sit down…” She pulled out the free chair next to her, causing the one next to that to topple to the ground. Harry stepped over it in a daze, sitting down, not making eye contact with anyone.

“What do you want, Harry?” Mrs. Weasley asked from the fire, talking quite rapidly for so early in the morning. “Porridge? Muffins?”— various ingredients floated up around her as she spoke— “Kippers? Bacon and eggs? Toast?”

“Just— just toast, thanks,” Harry said hoarsely, but Remus rather thought it would be a miracle if he were able to choke down anything— the anxiety radiating off of him was palpable. Hoping to save him the scrutiny of a room full of people, Remus quickly turned back to Tonks.

“What were you saying about Scrimgeour?” He asked.

“Oh… yeah…” Tonks sighed, frowning, as Molly brought a heaping plate of toast and marmalade over to the table. “Well, we need to be a bit more careful, he’s been asking Kingsley and me funny questions— we’ve been spending a bit too much time whispering together, I suppose. And this morning, he asked me what I was doing there, and I had to act like I wanted to take on a higher caseload. Which, in retrospect…” — she yawned hugely— “…was stupid of me, because he actually said yes, so now I’ll have to start working overtime… he’s putting me on two cases at once, so I’ll need to be out and about all weekend…”

Harry was mechanically chewing on a piece of toast like it was made of cardboard, while Molly nervously smoothed the shoulders of his T-shirt.

“…and I’ll have to tell Dumbledore I can’t do night duty tomorrow, I’m just t-t-too tired,” Tonks finished, yawning so hugely this time that Remus quite feared her jaw would dislocate.

“I’ll cover for you,” Arthur said, glancing back down at the parchment in front of him. “I’m okay, I’ve got a report to finish anyway…” Tonks smiled at him gratefully, and he smiled back before turning to Harry, who was staring at his barely eaten toast like it was personally responsible for all of the troubles in his life.

“How are you feeling?” Arthur asked him. Harry looked up: the dark circles under his eyes were nearly as pronounced as Tonks’. He shrugged in response, face still devoid of emotion. Remus had a sudden urge to reach out and grasp his hand, to comfort him, but it felt wrong, and perhaps unhelpful, so he didn’t.

“It’ll be over soon— in a few hours' time, you’ll be cleared,” Arthur said forcefully. Harry just stared at him. “The hearing’s on my floor, in Amelia Bones’s office,” he continued. “She’s Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and she’s the one who’ll be questioning you.”

“Amelia Bones is okay, Harry,” Tonks piped in. She was leaning forward a bit in her seat, not noticing that her elbow was inches away from knocking over her goblet of pumpkin juice. “She’s fair, she’ll hear you out.”

“Don’t lose your temper,” Sirius commanded suddenly. Remus turned to look at him: it was the first thing he had said since Harry had entered the room: his face was set and he was looking at his godson with utter seriousness. “Be polite and stick to the facts.”

Remus decided not to dwell on this rather uncharacteristic piece of advice, and turned back to Harry, who was nodding at them, apparently unable to speak. “The law’s on your side,” Remus said softly, for it was. “Even underage wizards are allowed to use magic in life-threatening situations.” Harry nodded again, and shivered in his seat as Molly seemed to appear out of nowhere and began to ferociously comb his hair. She was fighting a losing battle: Harry was James’ son, and even Sleekeazy's Hair Potion had never been able to tame James’ wild mane. Sirius was watching the affair with an air of great suffering— in any other circumstance, it would be almost comical, Molly flattening the dark strands over Harry’s forehead, just to have them bounce right back up into place, as if his scar was fighting to remain in constant view.

Arthur checked his watch, and when he told Harry they’d better head out, the piece of toast fell from his hand, landing on the plate with a dull _thunk_. He stood up in an unsteady jerk, looking for all the world like he was heading to his own execution.

“You’ll be all right, Harry,” Tonks assured him, and she did easily what Remus could not, and reached forward to pat his arm.

“Good luck,” Remus said, trying to sound as steady and confident as he could. “I’m sure it will be fine.”

“And if it’s not, I’ll see to Amelia Bones for you,” Sirius tacked on, in what was probably meant to be a joke, but came out as more of a legitimate threat. Regardless, Harry gave him a slightly nervous smile, and accepted a hug from Molly, nodding along to her well-wishes.

“Well…” he said, finally, when she had released him. “See you later, then.” And before any of them could respond, he turned, and followed Arthur up the stairs, out of sight.

There was a long silence.

“Well,” Tonks said finally. “I, um… I think I’ll go home and try to get a bit of sleep.” She stood up slowly, glanced at Sirius, and then looked nervously at Remus. “You’ll keep me updated?”

“Of course,” Remus said, and she nodded to him, before following Harry’s path up the stairs. It was just Molly, Sirius, and Remus left in the kitchen now, and a rather uncomfortable, bitter sort of tension hung in the air, the silence only broken by the start of a gentle thumping from the boiler room— it sounded as though Kreacher was repeatedly throwing something against the wall.

“Well,” Molly said finally. “I, um… I think maybe we’d better… I mean, once the kids are up, of course… we’re about done with the third floor, so if you’d like, Sirius, we could start your mother’s room…”

“I took care of that ages ago,” Sirius said dully, staring at his own distorted reflection in Tonks’ goblet. “Had to make sure it was safe for Buckbeak.”

“Right,” Molly said, “Of course.” She hesitated and then said, “But, you know, I saw that the bed was broken—”

“He likes it broken,” Sirius deadpanned. Molly threw Remus a look of absolute exasperation, as if it were his fault that Sirius was being so difficult, and then went over to the counter and started cracking eggs.

It was a long morning.

Hermione was the first of the kids to wake up, and sat at the breakfast table with her nose in a giant book entitled _Judicial Reparo: The Unappealing History of Magical Appeals_. Ginny and Ron joined soon after: Ron began inhaling bacon and eggs as soon as he sat down, as if doing so could eliminate the obvious stress he was feeling. Every once in a while, he and Hermione would put their heads together and begin whispering furiously, seemingly going through an endless cycle of Ron expressing doubts and Hermione reassuring him, and then Hermione expressing doubts and Ron reassuring her. Fred and George strutted into the kitchen, both of them sporting a decent amount of suspicious burns, but even they were a bit more muted than normal. As breakfast finished, Molly suggested they continue cleaning, and everyone followed her without much argument. Perhaps they all needed a distraction. However, as lunchtime crept closer and closer, they all migrated back to the basement, perhaps subconsciously, sitting there in near silence as Molly pounded a barrel of potatoes into mush.

Either Harry would be cleared, or he wouldn’t. And Remus clung firmly to the former option because it had to be true, because Dumbledore would intervene and make it so, because Dumbledore cared for his students, fought for his students, especially Harry. And Harry loved Hogwarts, and he deserved to be there, deserved to learn, and Remus kept thinking of the moment Harry told him he had produced a Patronus, a corporeal Patronus at _thirteen_ … how dedicated he was, how hard he had worked, how hard he worked to be at _Hogwarts_ … he couldn’t be expelled, not now, not when Voldemort was back, not when the entire world was against him—

The kitchen door burst open.

Hermione let out a high-pitch squeak of terror as Harry strode through the door, Arthur at his heels. Sirius’ leg started bouncing up and down against his own: Remus held his breath.

“I’m cleared,” Harry announced, beaming at the room around him. “Cleared of all charges!”

The kitchen erupted.

It was nearly impossible to discern individual reactions, for they all happened at once in a glorious cacophony of noise. Ron punched the air in furious victory, Hermione was shaking from head to foot with relief, Molly was in tears, face buried in her apron, Fred, George, and Ginny had begun performing a sort of celebratory dance, chanting at the top of their lungs, Sirius rose from his seat and moved like a magnet to Harry’s side, gripping his hand and wringing it with his own, and Harry grinned at him, positively glowing, looking happier than Remus had seen him in ages. And then Remus was on his feet too, and he couldn’t help but grip Harry’s shoulder, squeezing it in congratulations. There was an air of giddiness on nearly every face, delirious and relieved laughter wafting through the air, the chanting deafening in the background.

“That’s enough, settle down!” Arthur laughed. “Listen, Sirius—” he pulled Sirius aside and Remus tore his gaze away from Harry to join them. “Lucius Malfoy was at the Ministry—”

“What?” Sirius exclaimed, eyes flashing, barely audible over Ginny’s, Fred’s, and George’s howls.

“Be quiet, you three!” Arthur called, and then, turning back to Sirius and Remus, continued, “Yes, we saw him talking to Fudge on level nine, then they went up to Fudge’s office together.” He frowned nervously. “Dumbledore ought to know.”

“Absolutely,” Sirius assured him, ignoring the celebration. “We’ll tell him, don’t worry.” Arthur nodded in thanks, and then went over to Molly, skirting around the twins and Ginny, who were now partaking in a conga line. It was only after Arthur left to go back to work and lunch began to be passed out did Molly finally scream at them to be quieter, and everyone settled down into happy, lighthearted chatter. And that was also when Remus realized Sirius had left the room.

Frowning, Remus walked up the kitchen steps and into the hallway, just catching the tail end of a silvery dog phasing through the wall. Sirius lowered his wand, staring after it.

“Message to Dumbledore?” Remus asked, and Sirius jumped a bit, turning around.

“Oh,” he said. “Yeah. Just wanted to pass on what Arthur said. Sturgis is on duty right now, he may have seen Malfoy, but I figured Dumbledore should know as soon as possible.”

His voice was forcibly casual.

“Right,” Remus said, watching him carefully. “Well, thanks for doing that. Are you coming back down for lunch?”

“‘Course I am,” Sirius said gruffly. “We’re celebrating Harry’s innocence, aren’t we?” And without another word he pushed past Remus, back down into the kitchen. A tiny spark of understanding seemed to light up in Remus’ mind, but he quelled it instantly. He was surely imagining things.

— -

_August 16th, 1995_  
12 Grimmauld Place, London, England

He was not imagining things.

At first, he couldn’t have been sure— the day after the trial Remus was out running errands for the Order, and then the day after, he had to cover guard duty for Mundungus last minute, who, had at least had the tact to pretend to have a family emergency this time before slipping off to Knockturn Alley. But as the days went on, and he saw less and less of Sirius with every passing hour, he could ignore it no longer. And when he finally overheard Harry guiltily discussing the matter with Ron and Hermione, Remus decided he had to act.

He made his way to Walburga Black’s room and opened the door. Sirius didn’t even turn around at the noise— he remained sitting on the floor next to Buckbeak, staring moodily out the window, cradling a bag of dead rats, exactly as he had been doing for the past four days.

“I have to imagine Buckbeak is full by now,” Remus said, testing the waters with a joke. Sirius didn’t turn around, but Remus could tell that he was scowling; he closed the door behind him, and walked forward, settling down on the creaky floorboards next to Sirius, sitting shoulder-to-shoulder.

“Are you going to tell me why you’ve shut yourself in your mother’s room?” Remus asked matter-of-factly.

“I haven’t shut myself anywhere,” Sirius muttered, throwing a dead rat towards Buckbeak’s beak— the hippogriff turned his head in disinterest and it bounced off the side of his ear onto the floor with an awful squishing sound. They both stared at it in silence for a moment.

“Well,” Remus said carefully. “You’d better tell Harry that, because he seems to think you’re avoiding him.”

Sirius kicked the dead rat.

“Are you?” Remus asked quietly.

“Of course not,” Sirius growled. “Why would I avoid Harry?”

“Well, I was rather thinking you were avoiding _everyone_ ,” Remus said. “Ever since the trial.”

“Been doing a lot of thinking, have you, Moony?” Sirius said sarcastically.

Remus took a deep breath, and then, as softly and non-judgmentally as he could, asked, “Are you upset about Harry’s acquittal?”

A brief pause, and then—

“What!?” Sirius barked incredulously, whipping his head to face Remus, indignation and anger radiating off his features.

“I just—”

“You think I wanted my _godson_ to be expelled, to have his wand snapped!?” Sirius demanded furiously.

“No,” Remus said hastily.

“Then what!?”

Remus swallowed. “I was just wondering… if you were… perhaps… jealous.”

Sirius stared at him.

“You know…” Remus continued when he didn’t say anything. “You never got a trial. Dumbledore didn’t rush to your defense. I— none of us did. So I was just…”

“That was ages ago, Moony,” Sirius growled. “You think I’m up here sulking because what, boo hoo, Dumbledore didn’t think maybe I could be innocent back in bloody 1981?”

“No, I—”

“Or that he didn’t try to exonerate me with Fudge last year once he _knew_ I was innocent? Because I get it, whatever, there wasn’t any proof he could argue, and he couldn’t associate himself with me, that’d throw suspicion on him and Harry for my escape—”

“I— what—?”

“Or _maybe_ , there’s not something deep going on, _maybe_ I just fancied a quiet moment alone with Buckbeak!”

“You hate quiet moments,” Remus pointed out. Sirius scowled at him, but Remus held his eye until Sirius turned away, and after a moment, set down the bag of rats with a heavy sigh.

“You know Harry asked to come live with me, if he got expelled?” Sirius laughed humorlessly.

“Oh,” Remus whispered, his heart sinking. He paused, and then, trying to convince Sirius he had not missed out on this potential living arrangement, continued, “Well… you know… Dumbledore probably would have insisted he returned to his Aunt and Uncles’ eventually.”

“Dumbledore insists on a lot of things,” Sirius replied, more to himself than to Remus, who did not know quite what to say to that, so he said nothing at all. The sun dipped lower in the sky, lengthening the shadows across the dark, gloomy walls, and they sat in silence, listening to Buckbeak’s rhythmic breathing.

“There’s a meeting tonight,” Remus said, after a while. “Are you coming?”

“‘Course I am,” Sirius said. Remus got to his feet and looked down at Sirius.

“He does care about you, you know,” Remus said. “Dumbledore, I mean.” And when he didn’t reply, he decided to throw caution into the wind, and added, “…As do I.”

At this, Sirius actually turned, his eyebrows raised. “You flatter me, Moony,” he muttered, a bite of sarcasm back in his voice. Remus reached down, offering his hand— Sirius took it, and allowed himself to be pulled to standing. Together, they walked out of Walburga Black’s bedroom, down the many staircases, and into the kitchen, where the Order was waiting for them.

Dumbledore sat at the head of the table, wearing robes of deep orange and a matching hat, looking slightly troubled. Remus and Sirius filed into the room, and took the empty seats between Tonks and Moody, across from Sturgis and Emmeline.

“This is intended to be a short meeting,” Dumbledore said, once they had sat. “But I think it necessary that we follow up with a few things. Firstly, the matter of Lucius Malfoy at the Ministry during Harry’s trial…”

“Fudge is absolutely livid,” Tonks whispered as he spoke, and Remus turned and nearly jumped: her hair was styled in a rather alarming pitch-black mohawk. “About Dumbledore intervening with the trial. Apparently he made the whole Wizengamot look like a bunch of fools.”

“They _are_ fools,” Moody growled. “Not a brain cell to spare between the lot of ‘em.”

“…And Sturgis, you were on duty that morning, but you failed to leave a report,” Dumbledore finished— it was phrased like a reprimand, but his tone was polite and airy. Sturgis, however, seemed to be somewhere else completely: he was staring off into the distance, eyes unfocused.

“Sturgis,” Emmeline muttered, and he jumped, and then smiled guiltily at Dumbledore.

“Right, sorry,” he said, straightening in his seat, blinking rapidly, as if to wake himself up. “Yes, I was on duty, but I didn’t see anything suspicious. Malfoy was not in the Department of Mysteries at any point before Harry’s trial.”

“Interesting,” Dumbledore frowned, pressing his fingertip together. “So Lucius was indeed there to see Cornelius, then…”

“Must have been,” Sturgis nodded vacantly.

“He had a lot of gold on him,” Arthur sighed. “And they went off together to Fudge’s Office—”

“Should we be worried that Harry’s going to be attacked again?” Molly blurted. Everyone turned to look at her— she was wringing her hands and looking positively terrified. “I mean to say, is it possible that— well, just, the coincidence that Lucius was there right after the trial— since the dementor attack was unsuccessful— what if— well— Severus said Lucius will probably be attempting to use the Imperius Curse within the government at some point—”

“I do not foresee another physical attack on Harry in the near future,” Dumbledore interrupted her. “The Ministry does not know where he is, and if someone within their ranks ordered the attack, it’d be unwise of them to try again. As for Voldemort, I expect his pursuit of Harry to be more… mental.”

Remus frowned, watching him carefully, and he felt Sirius stir beside him.

“People often underestimate the power of the mind,” Dumbledore continued softly. “The mind can be our sharpest weapon and our weakest link. It is a private sanctuary, a place to conceal secrets, and yet it can be easily tampered with, changed, persuaded…” he trailed off rather cryptically. Remus looked sideways at Sirius, who was frowning deeply at his own hands; Molly looked even more anxious than she had before.

“The best way we can protect Harry right now is to guard the prophecy, and let him enjoy the rest of his summer,” Dumbledore added, after a pause. “I ask that you continue not burden him with any unnecessary information.”

Sirius opened his mouth as if to say something, but before he could—

“Speaking of guarding the prophecy,” Strugis chimed in suddenly. “I would be more than willing to cover additional shifts for anyone who needs a reprieve.”

“You’re not scheduled until the 31st,” Emmeline frowned, looking at a list of parchment in front of her. “Aren’t you going to visit your sister?”

“Oh,” Sturgis said. “Yes, of course.”

“We’ll all be fine,” Tonks said fiercely, although she had seemed to have developed permanent bags under her eyes. “In fact, after this is all over, I think I’m gonna transfer departments. I reckon I have the experience to become an Unspeakable myself, now…” a few people chuckled appreciatively.

“They’d be quite lucky to have you,” Dumbledore said, eyes twinkling.

“Speaking of careers,” Kingsley piped up. “Have you found a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher yet?”

“I have not,” Dumbledore sighed. “But again, while I appreciate your concern, that remains my own problem to handle.”

“But it’s Harry’s problem, too,” Sirius said suddenly, frowning. “Defense is gonna be kinda important for him right now, wouldn’t you agree?” And whether or not Dumbledore agreed, Remus definitely did. He himself had been more and more interested in who the next Defense teacher would be— who Dumbledore would hire now that Voldemort had returned.

“I am well aware of the curriculum’s value,” Dumbledore said, “And I am trying my best to find someone willing and qualified to teach.” His tone was light, but clearly dismissing any further inquiries.

The meeting ended quickly, but as everyone filed out of room, and Sirius took out his wand, waving it at the piles of parchment and reports, one person remained behind, approaching Remus only once the door had closed.

“Lupin,” Snape sneered.

“Severus,” Remus responded politely. Sirius turned around where he stood, wand still pointed at the cabinets, glaring.

“The next full moon is September ninth,” Snape stated.

“I am well aware,” Remus said, a bit nonplussed.

“In which time, I will be back at Hogwarts,” Snape said smoothly. “Obviously.”

“Yes,” Remus replied.

“And I understand that you are to remain… here,” Snape said, eyes glittering malevolently.

“I am,” Remus said, his stomach starting to sink.

“So,” Snape continued. “In regards to the favors I have been extending onto you—”

“And you’re going to keep _extending_ them, aren’t you, Severus ol’ chap?” Sirius said loudly, tapping his wand against his hand.

“This does not concern you, Black,” Snape drawled. “I suggest you focus on…” his dark eyes swept across the table. “…tidying up.”

“It does concern me, actually,” Sirius growled. “Because I don’t really want to deal with the fallout if Kreacher gets eaten, see. Imagine the indigestion.”

“Sirius,” Remus muttered.

“Oh, I see,” Snape said cooly. “I understand you want to avoid any sort of risk, of course… this being your… safe house…” Sirius white-knuckled his wand, and Snape turned back to Remus triumphantly. “I will _remind_ you that brewing this potion for you is not a part of my job description, nor my required duties as a Potions Master.”

“I understand,” Remus sighed.

“However,” Snape’s lip curled. “Dumbledore has requested that I continue.”

Remus’ heart leapt. “Has he?” He said, trying to reign in his relief.

“Yes,” Snape said unhappily. “The Ministry will surely be checking the mail, so expect a monthly owl, with the vials disguised.”

“What’s that about avoiding risks?” Sirius snapped.

“I suggest you treat me with respect, Black,” Snape rounded on him. “I am, after all, doing your…” he glanced at Remus and his mouth stretched into a sneer, “… _friend_ here an enormous kindness.”

“Yeah, you’re bloody benevolent,” Sirius said sarcastically, saluting him with his wand. The movement caught Snape’s eyes— they sparked with a kind of realization, and with an awful lurch, Remus knew exactly what was going to happen before it did.

“Oh, but apparently I’m not the only one,” Snape drawled mockingly. “Your wand. Lupin’s, no? How sweet… and here I thought you two had—”

“So you recognize it, huh!?” Sirius interrupted him, face scarlet. “Spent a lot of time sneaking a peek at Remus’ _wand_ back at school, did you?”

“No, but I imagine you did,” Snape said, dark eyes glittering malevolently. “And afterwards, well… I’ve heard it’s quite lonely in Azkaban… one must wonder how you passed the time...”

Remus felt himself flush so hot that he felt rather dizzy; Sirius’ face was on fire— he seemed, for once, caught of guard, completely unable to retort. Snape turned back to Remus in triumph.

“We will discuss the details later in the month,” he said. “Good evening.” And without a second glance at Sirius, he swept from the room.

There was a long, heavy, uncomfortable silence.

“Erm,” Remus muttered. But they were saved by the door bursting open once more, revealing, looking rather bizarre in a Muggle hat and dress, Minerva McGonagall.

“Oh,” she said curtly, stopping short at the scene in front of her— Remus realized with another bout of horror that he and Sirius were both still bright red— “Hello. I’m sorry for dropping in on such short notice, but I— have either of you seen Albus? Severus didn’t say, but I thought he was—”

“He just left,” Sirius barked, cheeks glowing.

“I see,” McGonagall sighed. “Alright, thank you, Mr. Bl— Sirius— I was hoping…”

“Is everything alright?” Remus asked hastily, desperate to have someone else remain in the room with them.

“Well,” McGonagall said, frowning. “I’m sure it is, but I just wanted to— Olympe Maxime sent a message to the school— she arrived at Beauxbatons just ten minutes ago—”

“So they’ve returned,” Remus muttered.

“Well,” McGonagall replied. “Hagrid did not return with her, you see… they apparently got separated on the journey back…” her frown deepened, but then she continued, voice forceful, “I’m sure he’s fine.”

“He probably just stopped along the way to pick up an illegally bred baby Chimaera or something,” Sirius offered moodily. McGonagall cast him a look so severe that Remus was surprised he didn’t cower, but then, unexpectedly, her lips twitched.

“I understand that you gave Potter his Firebolt,” she said suddenly. Sirius started, and stared at her, the color finally having left his face.

“Yeah,” he said curiously.

“Hmmm,” McGonagall said, looking at him, lips pursed.

“Probably’ll come in handy for Gryffindor this season, huh?” Sirius said, and his scowl had started to morph into a cautious smile.

“That’s hardly my highest concern,” McGonagall snapped, but her lips twitched again. “Well. I should find Albus. Good evening to you both.”

They watched her go.

“Y’know,” Sirius muttered. “One of these days, I’ll have to ask her if she ever suspected that we were Animagi.”

Remus forced a laugh. Though she had brought slightly troubling news, McGonagall’s arrival had answered his prayers. The thing was, as he watched Sirius finish putting the rest of the goblets away, he found himself wondering what would have happened had she not come. The Weasleys, Hermione, and Harry would only be staying at the house for another fifteen days. After that, aside from Kreacher and Walburga Black’s shrieking portrait, it would just be the two of them.


	20. A Risky Excursion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sirius sees Molly's boggart and decides any time spent with Harry is worth the risk, Dumbledore be damned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **fair amount of direct dialogue quoted from OotP (Chapter 10 & 14) in this chapter to maintain canon consistency!

_August 31st  
_ _12 Grimmauld Place, London, England_

The final night of Harry’s stay had been an event Sirius had been dreading for a while, but he found himself quite unable to mope when Molly burst into the kitchen, face shining with pride, to announce that there would be a celebration that evening, for Ron and Hermione had secured the positions of Gryffindor prefects.

Sirius had to keep himself from bursting into laughter— the thought of hosting something as trivial as a _prefect party_ , while Voldemort was out building an army, was absolutely mad— but it certainly took his mind off of his own sour mood, and offered a beautiful opportunity to tease Remus.

“Oh, Professor, you ought to congratulate them… induct them into the fold…”

“You’re insufferable.”

“Have you still got your badge, then?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“How’s poor Harry gonna manage… both of his best friends…”

“James was _Head Boy_ and _you_ seemed to get along just fine.”

“Head Boys are made, Moony, but Prefects… Prefects are _born_ …”

Molly invited other people to the celebration, as well, and when Tonks, Kingsley, and finally Mad-Eye Moody made their way in past the giant red banner (‘ _Congratulations Ron and Hermione— New Prefects_ ) Molly had hung above the table, Sirius nearly lost it again. Hermione was beaming with pride at everyone who looked at her, and Ron simply looked like someone had clubbed him across the head. Arthur, Bill, and Mundungus arrived, and Molly greeted the latter with such uncharacteristic warmth that Sirius stared— though he was clearly smuggling something in his overcoat, Molly did not even ask.

Once everyone had sat, and Ron and Hermione had been toasted, the group broke out into conversation as they reached chaotically across the table, heaping piles of food onto their plates. Sirius planted himself firmly in between Harry and Remus and, feeling hungrier than he had in ages, tore into a drumstick with reckless abandon, listening, amused, as Tonks happily described how she had misbehaved way too much to have ever been made prefect while at Hogwarts.

“What about you, Sirius?” Ginny asked, but she was grinning as if she already knew the answer.

Sirius laughed. “No one would have made me a prefect, I spent too much time in detention with James.” And then, turning innocently to Remus, he continued, “Lupin was the good boy, he got the badge.”

“I think Dumbledore might have hoped that I would be able to exercise some control over my best friends,” Remus explained, and he rolled his eyes, but he was smiling. “I need scarcely say that I failed dismally.”

“You sure tried at first, though,” Sirius replied, smirking as he loaded a baked potato onto his plate. “It was quite precious.”

Remus’ cheeks ghosted pink. “Well, I stopped trying after the suit of armor incident, didn’t I?”

“What suit of armor incident?” Harry demanded, looking back and forth between the both of them. Sirius felt an actual laugh bubbling in his stomach.

“Well,” he smirked. “In revenge for Remus’ attempted interference, James and I had the idea to bewitch the suits of armor to follow the Prefects around one night while they were on duty… and, y’know… mock them. But, we cast to spells a bit too strong, you see…”

“They followed all of us around for a week,” Remus sighed, rolling his eyes again, as Ron and Harry burst into laughter. “To class, to meals, repeating everything we said, copying everything we did—”

“—Poor sod, one followed him to the bathroom—”

“—They really don’t need every detail, Sirius.”

Ron was choking on his butterbeer as he and Harry cackled— Hermione pursed her lips, and Sirius thought with a grin that this was probably going to be a very long year for her.

The dinner went on, and Sirius rather thought every single person talked more this evening than they had all summer. Ron ensnared Sirius in conversation about his new broomstick for nearly a half-an-hour, while Harry watched him with affectionate amusement and Ginny teased him mercilessly. Hermione was in a heated discussion with Remus about something, and he was drinking up every word she said; Molly spent most of the dinner threatening to cut Bill’s hair; Fred and George, at one point, made some sort of business transaction with Mundungus.

“Have you heard from Podmore?” Moody growled, as Sirius cracked open another bottle of butterbeer. “Bloody menace was supposed to drop off my cloak a three days ago.”

“Uh,” Sirius frowned, taking a sip. “Dunno, maybe he decided to stay at his sister’s longer. Isn’t she pregnant or something?”

“Does he need an invisibility cloak to aid with the damn birthing process?” Moody barked.

“He’s on guard duty tonight,” Remus said, smiling. “So he’ll probably be using it for that.”

“If he doesn’t show up tomorrow morning with my cloak and a satisfactory explanation, I’m reporting him to Dumbledore,” Moody muttered, sniffing a baked potato suspiciously. “We’ve got to be vigilant transporting Potter to school…”

“Speaking of,” Kingsley joined in the conversation, glancing up at the scarlet banner above the table, “Anyone else wondering why Dumbledore didn’t make Potter a prefect?” Sirius raised an eyebrow. He himself hadn’t really given this idea much thought or care, but Remus frowned thoughtfully.

“He’ll have had his reasons,” Remus said.

“But it would’ve shown confidence in him,” Kingsley pushed on, his eyebrows knitting together. “It’s what I’d’ve done, ’specially with the Daily Prophet having a go at him every few days…”

“Like I said, authority attracts enemies,” Moody growled. “And Potter’s targeted enough as it is.”

“To be honest, I don’t think giving second-years detention is exactly Harry’s greatest ambition in life,” Sirius smirked, draining his bottle. Remus passed him another full one without saying a word— and at this small gesture, Sirius felt his stomach swoop oddly.

“Ron and Hermione will do a good job,” Remus said confidently.

“Thank Merlin for that,” Sirius said sarcastically. “I was so _nervous_ that Hogwarts had gone to the dogs…”

“No, that was when you attended, wasn’t it, Padfoot?” Remus said dryly, and Sirius grinned and saluted him, while Moody rolled his magical eye.

Not long afterwards, Molly yawned loudly from the other side of the table, and stood up, looking around fondly at everyone there. “Well, I think I’ll sort out that boggart before I turn in,” she sighed happily, and then turned to her husband. “Arthur, I don’t want this lot up too late, all right?” He nodded, and Sirius watched as she bid Harry goodnight before leaving the kitchen, heading off towards the rattling desk in the drawing-room: of course, she would end her final night at Grimmauld Place finishing the cleaning.

Sirius let his gaze scatter across the rest of the table. Ginny and Hermione were leaning against each other, laughing at Tonks who was morphing her hair, previously waist-length and red, into an incredibly unfortunate silver combover. Bill was talking happily with his dad about something— Arthur was listening, a soft smile on his face. Fred and George were cackling about something, their heads together, passing mysterious objects into each others’ pockets. Ron was still going on and on about his broomstick to nobody in particular. And as Sirius watched them all, he was surprised to find that he would rather miss their presence in the house. His eyes sought out Harry— and found him grimacing at Moody, who was waving around a large photograph that looked shockingly familiar…

“What’s that you’ve got there, Mad-Eye?” Sirius asked curiously, as Harry got up from the table, and crossed the kitchen. Moody turned towards him, and grinning, shoved the photo his way.

“Found it looking for my other cloak,” he laughed gruffly. “Mad, eh?”

Sirius pulled the picture in front of him, and felt Remus turn to look at it as well.

“Good heavens,” Remus whispered. Sirius stared. The original Order of the Phoenix blinked back up at him.

A younger, less scarred Moody glowered at the camera. Dumbledore next to him, looking serene, and Diggle on his other side. And next to them, Marlene McKinnon— Sirius felt his stomach twist a bit as she grinned up at him and waved. Marlene had been a Gryffindor, a couple years older than him at Hogwarts, and one of the funniest people Sirius had ever known. Two weeks after this photo was taken, Mulciber Junior had Imperiused her younger brother to Crucio both of their parents, and then murder them and himself, in front of her, while a Death Eater named Travers forced her to watch, before killing her as well. Their funeral had been awful. And next to her, in the photo— Frank and Alice Longbottom— the Gryffindor power couple when Sirius was just a kid— tortured into insanity by his own cousin— he had heard Bellatrix’s boasts pass through the cells of Azkaban…

The faces of the dead seemed to jump out at him, while the others swam in the background. Benjy Fenwick, who’d been torn to pieces by a Bombarda curse straight to the chest. Edgar Bones, whose parents had been murdered a week before the photograph was taken, and whose wife and children had been kidnapped, tortured, and murdered right along with him a little over a month later. Caradoc Dearborn, who had apparently vanished without a trace months after Voldemort had fallen. Fabian and Gideon, Molly’s twin brothers, who had died one after the other battling five Death Eaters at once. He remembered thinking it was good that they had died together, for he couldn’t imagine one of them living without the other. Dorcas Meadowes— she had been Lily’s best friend— a brilliant witch, she was dedicated and persistent: she had hunted down Travers to avenge Marlene’s death, beating him and turning him over to the Ministry singlehandedly. It was only after her near defeat of Bellatrix that Voldemort turned up at her doorstep and murdered her himself.

And, then, at last, his gaze fell to Lily and James. They waved fiercely at him, Lily’s eyes twinkling, James’ glasses crooked on his face. He remembered taking the photo, remembered Lily and James showing up, barely able to completely cover themselves with James’ invisibility cloak, talking about how excited they were for Harry’s upcoming birthday… and then he looked at Remus, far away from them, watching them hesitantly and morosely from the outskirts of the group…

_“Mate…” James had sighed, gesturing in Remus’ direction._

_“Nope,” Sirius had growled._

_“It’s been a bloody year.”_

_“Well it’s not my fault, is it?” Sirius had snapped. “He’s the one that ended things. Besides, I’m telling you, something’s been off with him for a while… acting all dodgy, avoiding everyone…”_

_“I’ve noticed that too,” Wormtail had agreed._

_Lily and James had exchanged an exasperated glance, but said nothing._

Sirius’ eyes found Wormtail in the photo, smiling, looking perfectly at home between the Potter’s own grinning faces. His stomach lurched. He opened his mouth, to try and say something, not that he knew what in Merlin’s name that would be, but he was cut off by a muffled cry from upstairs.

Someone was sobbing.

“Mrs. Weasley?” A voice called faintly— Harry—

More sobbing. Sirius and Remus turned towards each other, and in one fluid motion, jumped to their feet, hurrying towards the staircase, Moody stumping behind them.

“No!” Molly’s voice moaned, growing louder as they ascended the staircase— Remus was just in front of him, and had broken into a run—

“NO! _Riddikulus_! _Riddikulus_! _RIDDIKULUS_!”

“Mrs. Weasley, just get out of here! Let someone else—”

Remus tore into the drawing-room, Sirius flew behind him, nearly smashing into his back when Remus skidded to a halt— Molly was sobbing, hunched in the corner, her wand out and shaking, and Harry, Harry—

…Harry was lying dead on the floor.

Sirius’ whole body stopped working. The breath had been torn from his lungs, his pulse had ceased, his brain had shut down, he could not hear or taste or see— this was fear, fear as he had never felt it before, pure terror, the world was falling out from under him— Harry, lying dead on the floor—

But then— but then, wait— _wait,_ no, Harry was— Harry was standing in the room too, watching them— and he was alive— he was _alive_ — there were two Harry’s, one staring, panic stricken, at Remus, the other lying eagle-spread on the floor, eyes blank—

“ _Riddikulus!_ ” Remus uttered forcefully, his wand pointed towards the Harry on the floor, and the broken body was replaced by the full moon, hanging suspended in the air, casting an ominous silvery glow across the room around them. He waved his wand again, and the moon exploded into a cartoonishly fluffy puff of smoke.

The boggart was gone.

“Oh — oh — oh!” Molly gasped, and then she crumpled upon herself, sobbing in horror, her face falling into her hands. The sound cut through Sirius like a knife.

“Molly,” Remus said weakly, and he crossed the room, lifting his hands out to her. “Molly, don’t…” and he took her into his arms as she collapsed onto his shoulder, burying her face in his robes, crying in anguish.

“Molly, it was just a boggart, just a stupid boggart,” he continued softly, stroking her hair soothingly.

“I see them d-d-dead all the time!” Molly sobbed. “All the t-t-time! I d-d-dream about it…” Sirius could not look away from the spot where Harry’s corpse had lay. His entire body still felt cold, frozen— the image flashed on his eyelids every time he blinked, as if burned, scalded into his brain…

“D-d-don’t tell Arthur— I d-d-don’t want him to know… Being silly…” Molly continued weakly, accepting a handkerchief that Remus had conjured for her. She blew her nose and turned to face Harry, the real Harry, living Harry, who was watching her in extreme pain. “Harry, I’m so sorry,” she apologized, her voice shaking. “What must you think of me— not even able to get rid of a boggart…”

“Don’t be stupid,” Harry said quickly, putting on a strained smile.

“I’m just s-s-so worried,” she explained, and tears began to leak out of her eyes once more, rolling down her cheeks, dripping off her face, landing on Remus’ robes. “Half the f-f-family’s in the Order, it’ll b-b-be a miracle if we all come through this…” she shuddered and swallowed another sob as she continued, “ P-P-Percy’s not talking to us… what if something d-d-dreadful happens and we had never m-m-made up?” And then, even more frantically— “And what’s going to happen if Arthur and I get killed, who’s g-g-going to look after Ron and Ginny?”

“Molly, that’s enough,” Remus said, with surprising force: he was looking at her, his face set, determined. “This isn’t like last time. The Order is better prepared, we’ve got a head start, we know what Voldemort’s up to—” Molly yelped at Voldemort’s name and Remus frowned. “Oh, Molly, come on, it’s about time you got used to hearing it,” he chastised. Sirius vaguely thought back to their younger years. He had been the first to use Voldemort’s real name, then James. It had taken Remus a little longer, but he still remembered the first time he said it, one time when he had broken free of his normal calm demeanor— “ _And apparently, Voldemort’s recruiting werewolves now”_ …

“Look,” Remus continued, voice soft— he pulled away a bit from Molly so he could look her in the eye. “I can’t promise no one’s going to get hurt, nobody can promise that, but we’re much better off than we were last time, you weren’t in the Order then, you don’t understand…” he paused for a second, and continued, his voice slightly lower— “Last time, we were outnumbered twenty to one by the Death Eaters, and they were picking us off one by one…”

“Don’t worry about Percy, he’ll come round,” Sirius chimed in, suddenly. He found himself also looking into Molly’s eyes— he found himself _really_ looking at her, like Remus had been— her eyelashes speckled with tears, her face lined, her mouth trembling. When Gideon and Fabian died, he hadn’t really thought much about Molly, their younger sister, for he had never met her. But he thought about her now. He thought about how she had raised six of her seven children during a war. And then he thought about how so many other Order members had their family members slaughtered— the Bones, the McKinnons… and then he looked back at the floor. Harry’s dead body had been her boggart. “It’s a matter of time before Voldemort moves into the open,” Sirius continued. “Once he does, the whole Ministry’s going to be begging us to forgive them. And…” —he thought of Cornelius Fudge— “I’m not sure I’ll be accepting their apology.”

Another tear leaked from Molly’s eye. Sirius suddenly felt an enormous wave of regret for the way he had treated her the past month. Remus stroked her hair again.

“And as for who’s going to look after Ron and Ginny if you and Arthur died,” Remus said, smiling gently down at her, “What do you think we’d do, let them starve?” Sirius’ stomach jumped oddly at this— he tried to catch Remus’ eye, a million questions suddenly running through his head, but Remus was still looking at Molly.

“Being silly,” Molly murmured again, and gave them all a watery smile.

“You’re not,” Sirius and Harry said in unison. She gave a shuddering sigh, and then handed the handkerchief back to Remus.

“Well,” she said shakily. “The drawing room’s done, I suppose.” Harry forced a laugh— Sirius looked sideways at him again, and as he did, he felt once more felt cold.

“You alright Harry?” He asked gruffly.

“Yeah, ‘course,” Harry said, but his voice sounded high. “I’m all good.”

Ten minutes later, Harry and Moody left the room, and Molly grasped Remus’ hand in one final act of thanks before following them. Sirius watched her go, his heart feeling like lead. He stayed staring, long after she left, his back to Remus, who remained where he was.

“Did you mean that?” Sirius said, after a moment.

“What?” Remus asked.

“About looking after Ron and Ginny. You said ‘we’d’ look after Ron and Ginny if anything happened to Molly and Arthur,” Sirius said, still not looking at him.

“Nothing is going to happen to them,” Remus replied, after a short pause. Sirius turned, and looked back at the floor where Harry’s body had been.

“We have the same boggart,” he muttered.

“What?” Remus asked, taking a step forward.

“Molly and I,” Sirius said, still staring. “I reckon we have the same boggart.” He had realized it the second he had entered the room, the second he saw Harry’s green eyes staring, unseeing, unfeeling, at the ceiling. He had never in his _life_ felt fear like that. He had felt worse pain, fury, grief, and desolation. But never had he felt that level of fear.

“Sirius,” Remus said, and his voice was so gentle it hurt. “Harry is going to be at Hogwarts tomorrow. Dumbledore won’t let anything happen to him.”

“I’m going with him to King’s Cross,” Sirius said abruptly, and he glared at Remus. “Tomorrow morning.”

“…Sirius…” Remus said carefully, as if he were explaining something to a child. “Dumbledore said—”

“I don’t care,” Sirius snapped. “I really cannot emphasize enough how much I don’t care.”

— -

_September 1st  
_ _12 Grimmauld Place // King’s Cross Station_

Sirius stayed in bed until he was sure Remus was downstairs. It was only once Molly and his mother’s portrait started screaming in harmony that Sirius decided it was time to join the fray. The closer they were to missing the train, the less time Molly, or Remus, or anyone else would have to argue with his decision to come along.

Not even changing out of his nightclothes, he transformed into a dog in one swift movement, and bounded down the many staircases to the first floor. The hallway was chaotic with people, and the floor was littered with trunks— Sirius leapt over each one of them, as if navigating an obstacle course, making a beeline for Harry, gloriously alive Harry—

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Sirius!” Molly cried as he reached his godson’s side. “Dumbledore said no!”

Sirius stared up at her. She stared back at him. He wondered if she was really going to try and have an argument with a dog, and then thought if anyone would try, it would be Molly Weasley, but then—

“Oh honestly…” she sighed, exasperated, and then, throwing her hands up in the air in defeat— “Well, on your own head be it!”

Sirius wagged his tail with triumph. He did not look back to try and find Remus in the fray— instead, he nuzzled Harry’s leg and followed Molly as she tore the door open, and stepped out into the sunlight.

The moment his paw hit the pavement, he felt as though he were floating.

It was as though his body had been made of lead, and now it was made of feathers. After the dark, mustiness of Grimmauld Place, the outside world felt like the world’s most beautiful dream. A cool breeze ruffled his fur— he had forgotten that grass was so green, or that it smelled so good— how _alive_ everything was— how every sound was a celebration— Harry and Molly were talking, but Sirius could not listen, he was too busy taking in the rustling of the leaves, the hum of the Muggle cars, the buzzing of insects as they rose and dipped with the wind.

They met up with Tonks, who was disguised as an elderly woman— she grinned in delight when she caught sight of Sirius, and he wagged his tail in response.

“Better hurry up, hadn’t we, Molly?” Tonks said, checking her watch as she reached down to scratch Sirius on the head.

“I know, I know,” Molly lamented, quickening her pace. “But Mad-Eye wanted to wait for Sturgis… If only Arthur could have got us cars from the Ministry again…” she grimaced ruefully, and then sighed, “But Fudge wouldn’t let him borrow so much as an empty ink bottle these days… _how_ Muggles can stand traveling without magic…”

“Sturgis didn’t show?” Tonks frowned. “Again? That’s not like him.”

“Lately, it has been,” Molly sniffed. “But I’m sure Dumbledore will get him back in line…”

Sirius tuned back out of the conversation, for he had come across a group of pigeons— he bounded upon them without a second thought, snapping playfully, scattering them, and as they flew up into the air, he caught sight of his own tail— it was a natural instinct to chase it, and so that’s what he did, nearly falling over as he spun around the sidewalk, getting dizzier and dizzier. Harry laughed, and the sound was better than anything he had heard thus far. He bounded ahead of the group, picked out a particularly attractive stick, and brought it back to Harry, who threw it with the precision only a Quidditch player could.

The game of fetch lasted several minutes, with Tonks joining in a few times— Sirius decided not to push his luck with Molly, though. Eventually, he caught sight of a pair of cats, and chased them down— they meowed furiously, darting one after the other into a bush, and Sirius stopped to roll around in the fresh grass as Harry laughed again.

As they neared King’s Cross, however, Sirius reigned himself in, settling to stay by Harry’s side— nuzzling his knees, nipping playfully at his trainers, slobbering on his hands. He stayed near him all the way through the station, and felt his spirits soar as they slid through the barrier between platforms nine and ten… he emerged, by Harry’s side, onto platform nine and three quarters, for the first time in seventeen years.

There was steam everywhere, and witches and wizards looking peculiar in poorly put-together Muggle clothes. Owls screeched from their cages, parents fussed over their children, older students roared greetings to their friends, happy to be finally reuniting after the summer.

“Nice dog, Harry!” Someone called out from the crowd.

“Thanks, Lee,” Harry replied, grinning, and Sirius wagged his tail so hard he nearly knocked the trunk out of a passerby’s hand. A few people laughed, catching sight of him, and he panted at them cheerfully. Moody joined them soon after, with the luggage; then, Arthur with Ron and Hermione; and then, finally, Remus with Ginny and the twins.

“No trouble?” Moody demanded.

“Nothing,” Remus said, and as Moody muttered something about Sturgis, Remus’ eyes slid downwards, and met Sirius’ own.

Sirius barked happily. Remus seemed to age one hundred years. He opened his mouth, closed it, and then tore his gaze away, looking like he had suddenly developed the world’s most potent headache.

“Well, look after yourselves,” he said, with forced cheerfulness, shaking all of his formers students’ hands. When he got to Harry, he reached out and grasped his shoulder, letting go after the briefest of moments. “You too, Harry,” he said softly. “Be careful.” Harry nodded to him, and Sirius waited impatiently for Moody, then Tonks and finally Molly to say goodbye. The warning whistle blasted across the crowd, and Sirius seized his moment— darting in front of Harry, he reared himself onto his hind legs, and placed his front paws on his shoulders, looking Harry right in the eye. Harry stared back, grinning hugely, his eyes alight, and Sirius thought with a pang that this is how it should have always been, him seeing off Harry every year at the Hogwarts Express, hugging him as a human, not as a—

“For heaven’s sake, act more like a dog, Sirius!” Molly begged, pulling Harry away from him and towards the doors of the train. But Sirius was not ready to say goodbye, and when the train started moving, he could not help racing after it— he sprinted to keep up with the window that Harry was leaning out of, waving to him, and he ran and ran, the wind from the train whipping his ears back, only stopping when he reached the end of the platform, when the train turned a corner, and Harry was gone.

He stood there for a moment, looking at the empty tracks, before turning and padding back through the sea of people to where the Order was clustered. Several people smiled and waved at him as he went— he noticed Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy in the crowd and bared his teeth in their direction, before being distracted by a young boy, about four, who reached out and pulled lightly at his ear. Sirius nipped at him in playful retaliation, and the boy laughed in delight.

“Nicholas Montgomery!” His mother chided. “Don’t hurt it!” But Sirius wagged his tail to show her that he knew the boy was just teasing.

“Mummy, can we get a dog!?” The boy named Nicolas pleaded.

“Absolutely not,” his other mother laughed. “The girls would grow too attached, they’d want to bring it to Hogwarts…”

Sirius very seriously considered giving himself up for adoption right then. Wormtail had lived a good twelve years as a pet rat, why couldn’t he… this Nicholas kid wouldn’t lock him up in an old, ancient house full of dark magic, ostracized from the rest of the world…

And suddenly, a hand reached down and grabbed the scruff of his neck, wrapping something— a collar— a _collar_!?— around it—

He looked up to see Remus standing over him, clutching the other end of a leash, face pale.

“Sorry,” one of Nicolas’ mothers apologized. “Is that your dog?”

“He belongs to a friend,” Remus said, plastering on a polite, but forced smile.

“What’s his name?” Nicolas begged.

“…Wags,” Remus invented awkwardly, and he tugged at the leash. “Come along.” He nearly dragged Sirius across the ground, before turning on the spot. Sirius realized with a start that he had never done side-along Apparition as a dog, and then wondered immediately why he and James had never tried it, but before he could process this all they were on the top step of Number 12, Grimmauld Place, and he was being pushed through the door.

He transformed the second the door closed, and looked over at Remus in delight. “ _Wags!?”_

“My apologies, should I have used your full legal name!?” Remus snapped.

“No,” Sirius cackled. “But what happened to Padfoot— or even Snuffles? _Wags_ , honestly, I ask you—”

“Peter very likely told the Death Eaters about our childhood nicknames— and it’s possible someone heard Harry calling you Snuffles in passing at school and put two and two together—” and his face paled— he suddenly looked furious, and his voice rose several octaves as he continued, “And you’re the one who came up with the nickname _Moon_ y so I don’t think you’re in any position to criticize—”

“I was thirteen. You’re a fully grown man.” Sirius tugged at his neck and suddenly realized, with a barely suppressed shout of laughter, that the collar was still there, and Remus was still clutching the end of the leash. “Quite kinky, summoning this, by the way,” he drawled, twirling his end of the leash with his finger. “Out in public, too, _very_ daring—”

“—Don’t you— out in _public_ — I— you—” Remus dropped the leash, face red and furious. “You’re such a fool!”

“I _told_ you I was gonna go,” Sirius said, refusing to let Remus sully his good mood. He pulled the collar over his head, and let it fall to the floor with a beautifully loud _thunk_. “And I was right to. Everything went smoothly, Harry had a good time, I got to stretch my legs a bit. Well worth it, and no harm done.”

“You don’t know that,” Remus moaned. “Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle, Nott— they all have children, they were all there—”

“Yes, I saw my _darling_ cousin Narcissa, she looked stuffy as ever,” Sirius smirked. He bent down, picked the collar and leash up off of the floor, and held it out towards Remus. “So, do you want to keep this, or…?”

“I swear to Merlin—”

But then, the door clicked open, silencing him, and Emmeline Vance hurried into the hall. Remus vanished the leash and collar with a flick of his wand, face flaming.

“Hello,” Emmeline greeted them curtly, and Sirius noticed her eyebrows were knit together so tightly they almost formed one line. And without waiting for them to respond, she asked, “Did Sturgis accompany you to King’s Cross?”

“No,” Remus frowned. “He didn’t show— why, has something happened?”

“I… believe so,” Emmeline said, and Sirius realized that there was an edge of panic to her normally controlled voice. “When I arrived at the Department of Mysteries to relieve him— a bit before three o'clock this morning— he wasn’t there— and there was a huge increase in night security, watch-wizards patrolling all over the place. I didn’t dare send a Patronus lest it was seen…”

“Is Dedalus there now?” Remus asked, worriedly.

“Yes, we switched off not five minutes ago,” Emmeline said, her whole body rigid. “But something is amiss, and I wrote to Sturgis at his sister’s last week and he never answered, I didn’t think much of it at the time, but…”

“Who was on duty before him, yesterday evening?” Sirius asked.

“Hestia,” Remus and Emmeline said in unison.

“I sent her a message the moment I left the Ministry, right before coming here,” Emmeline continued. “Asking whether he showed up for his shift at all—” A sharp crack from outside drowned out her voice, and the door opened with a hurried mechanical clicking, Hestia Jones rushing through the door.

“I got your Patronus,” she said. “What’s happened?”

“Did Sturgis show up on time last night?” Emmeline asked forcefully.

“…Yeah?” Hestia answered, looking bewildered. “Thank Merlin, because he’s been, well, a bit unreliable these past few weeks, hasn’t he—”

“He wasn’t there when I arrived,” Emmeline interrupted. “Which means something caused him to leave early, and then to fail to arrive to escort Potter to King’s Cross, without giving any warning or explanation…”

Another crack outside, and Kingsley burst through the door as if on cue, looking livid.

“Sturgis has been arrested,” he announced, without greeting them. “At one o’ clock in the morning, apparently—”

“What!?” Remus and Hestia exclaimed together. Emmeline clenched her jaw so tightly Sirius was surprised her teeth didn’t shatter.

“What happened?” Sirius asked.

“Watch-wizard caught him trying to get into the door of the Hall of Prophecies,” Kingsley reported, running a hand across his bald head. “He’s being held in custody, refusing to talk, a trial’s been set for the sixth—”

“Why the hell was he trying to get through the door!?” Hestia demanded furiously.

“He’s been Imperiused,” Emmeline stated suddenly, her voice flat. They all turned to stare at her, and she continued, face set, “I cannot believe I didn’t notice before. He’s been acting odd for weeks.”

“Lucius Malfoy,” Remus moaned, in apparent realization. “Arthur saw him at the Ministry after Harry’s hearing… Sturgis was on duty— Malfoy must’ve done it during the trial…”

“Figures,” Sirius growled. “Slimy git, doesn’t wanna dirty his hands so he gets a member of the Order to do his job for him—”

“Have you told Dumbledore?” Remus demanded of Kingsley, interrupting as if Sirius hadn’t said anything.

“Sent him a message as soon as I found out,” Kingsley sighed. “But he cannot get involved, if the Ministry suspects he has any ties to it— they’re watching his every move, and with the decree passed two days ago, they’re not backing down—”

“What decree?” Remus asked sharply.

“You didn’t hear?” Kingsley asked heavily. “Not surprised, actually, it was done so quickly— they gave themselves the power to appoint teachers if Dumbledore can’t find someone to fill any open position—”

“ _What_!?” Remus and Emmeline both exclaimed, infuriated.

“Wow, they aren’t even pretending to be subtle anymore, are they!?” Hestia cried.

“No, well, Fudge gave the Defense-Against the Dark Arts position to Dolores Umbridge, dunno if you’ve heard of her, she’s his Senior Under-Secretary—”

“I beg your pardon?” Remus interrupted, and Sirius saw his throat constrict. He knew that name, too, from somewhere… Umbridge, Umbridge…

“Oh yeah, you’d know her, wouldn’t you?” Kingsley said darkly, looking at Remus. “I’m sure the merfolk of the Great Lake aren’t happy either, I wonder if Dumbledore’s told them she’ll be a teacher… remember how she campaigned to have merpeople rounded up and tagged last year?”

And then Sirius remembered— remembered Remus telling him, back at his cottage, almost a year ago— she had been the one to pass an anti-werewolf legislation, making it nearly impossible for Remus to find a job…

“ _She’s_ going to be Harry’s Defense teacher!?” Sirius growled. “Really, Dumbledore couldn’t find _anyone_ to take the job?”

“There’s a reason it’s her,” Remus muttered— angry red patches had appeared on the top of his cheekbones. “Dumbledore’s publicly condemned her ideals for years; she disliked him even before he started speaking about Voldemort’s return. Her being there, involving herself in the way he runs the school— this isn’t a coincidence.”

“Of course it’s not,” Kingsley sighed. “Nothing is a coincidence, not anymore. Every move is calculated.”

“What even qualifies this old cow to teach?” Sirius barked.

“Well, that’s the very point,” Kingsley said. “Very slim chance she’ll be doing any teaching at all. Word around the Ministry is Fudge doesn’t want the students trained in any sort of combat.”

“Dunno why Voldemort even bothers Imperiusing anyone,” Sirius laughed darkly. “The Ministry’s already doing his job for him of their own bloody volition.”

“Fudge is quite paranoid,” Kingsley sighed. “He’s very aware of Dumbledore’s influence on his students, he’s got this idea that they will rally behind him and… who knows, arrange a coup…”

“Emmeline,” Hestia interrupted, in a small voice. “Are you… alright?”

“I am fine, thank you,” Emmeline asserted, and Hestia seemed to shrink a bit. “I…” Emmeline paused, and Sirius realized her fists were clenched at her sides. “I think I should write to Sturgis’ sister. I don’t want her finding out about this from the _Prophet._ ” And before anyone could say another word, she had turned, and swept from the house.

“Can we presume he’s still under the Imperius Curse?” Remus said softly, watching the door close with a sharp bang.

“I don’t know,” Kingsley shrugged. “Again, he won’t speak in his defense. Whether his silence is voluntary, to protect the Order, or forced, to protect He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, we can only guess.”

Kingsley had to return to work, but the Order reconvened that very evening, and the rest of the week was devoted to such high stakes matters, that thankfully, in comparison, Sirius’ little excursion was apparently overlooked. Dumbledore, who had his hands full at Hogwarts, did not reach out with any sort of indictment or reprimand, and it seemed that Remus had not reported him for it. In fact, Sirius rather thought that the risen stakes proved that by contrast, the importance of Sirius remaining in Grimmauld Place was quite trivial.

— -

_September 7th  
_ _12 Grimmauld Place, London, England_

Sirius woke up to the sound of Kreacher crying from across the hall. After crawling deliriously out of bed, which was empty of Remus, he trudged out of his room barefoot, pausing at Regulus’ open door, which revealed Kreacher rocking back and forth on his brother’s bed, clutching what looked like a photo of a ten-year old Bellatrix clutching a newborn baby Reg. Sirius rolled his eyes and walked towards the stairs— Bellatrix may have liked Regulus back then, but he was sure she hadn’t taken too kindly to his attempt to desert the Death Eaters eighteen years later.

He slumped down the stairs, stopping by Buckbeak’s room to throw him a couple rats, and then descended all the way into the kitchen, where he found Remus, fully dressed, face completely obscured by the morning’s newspaper.

“Morning,” Sirius yawned, summoning a kettle towards the fireplace, mildly surprised Remus hadn’t already put one on. “Have you eaten yet?” Remus didn’t respond, but Sirius was too distracted by opening one of the cupboards and peered into its depths, frowning. He would never admit it aloud, but he quite missed Molly’s fry-ups. Waking up to a fully cooked breakfast every morning had been a luxury he hadn’t experienced since Hogwarts. “We haven’t got any more of that jam, have we?” He asked, opening another cabinet. “I reckon we can get some more duplicates out of it still—”

A loud bang echoed throughout the room, and Sirius turned with a start, cut-off mid-sentence. Remus was on his feet, his hand splayed across the _Daily Prophet_ , which he had apparently smacked flat onto the table. His face was white with anger.

“Is that a no to the jam, then?” Sirius asked pleasantly.

“ _Read it_ ,” Remus hissed, and he slid the paper across the table, where Sirius picked it up and looked down at the opened page.

> **_SIRIUS BLACK RUMORED TO BE IN LONDON_ **
> 
> **_The Ministry of Magic has received a tip-off from a reliable source that Sirius Black, notorious mass murderer and escaped fugitive, is currently hiding in London. Auror efforts to locate Black had previously been focused on a broad international level, with his last reported sighting somewhere in Tibet._** _“While I find it unlikely that Black would risk returning to British jurisdiction, we will of course investigate any new piece of information we receive,”_ ** _said_** **_Kingsley Shacklebolt, Senior Auror and head of the manhunt for Black. The Ministry warns the Wizarding community that Black is very dangerous: twelve years after he killed thirteen people in the autumn of 1981, he broke out of Azkaban, and has been evading re-capture ever since. Shacklebolt is requesting anyone with information of Black’s whereabouts to send a letter directly to his office._**

Sirius looked up from the page, towards Remus’ pale face, and put on an expression of mock- concern. “Oh, Moony,” he fretted dramatically. “Shall I get started on the letter? If we hurry we can get a tip to the Auror’s office before noon—”

“This isn’t funny!” Remus exclaimed. “If the entire Ministry, and every reader of the _Daily Prophet_ thinks you're in London—”

“Well, every reader of the _Quibbler_ thinks I’m Stubby Boardman, lead singer of the popular singing group The Hobgoblins, so—”

“Sirius,” Remus interrupted, exasperated. “You realize, don’t you, that this little tip-off probably came from Lucius Malfoy!? Think of how much influence he has within the—”

“Oh, please,” Sirius rolled his eyes, and threw himself down on a chair. “What is he gonna do to me? Have Narcissa try and make a claim on the house?”

“Well, I’m sure he’d love to send yet another Order member to Azkaban,” Remus said furiously, and pointed towards the other side of the paper. Sirius squinted at a tiny block of print—

> **_TRESPASS AT MINISTRY_ ** ****
> 
> **_Sturgis Podmore, 38, of number two, Laburnum Gardens, Clapham, has appeared in front of the Wizengamot charged with trespass and attempted robbery at the Ministry of Magic on 31st August. Podmore was arrested by Ministry of Magic watchwizard Eric Munch, who found him attempting to force his way through a top-security door at one o’clock in the morning. Podmore, who refused to speak in his own defense, was convicted on both charges and sentenced to six months in Azkaban._ **

“Shite,” Sirius muttered, and he imagined happy-go-lucky Sturgis Podmore, with his ridiculous mop of blonde hair, huddled in a cell, surrounded by dementors. “So he was quiet ‘till the end…” he looked up at Remus, and said, somewhat provokingly, “Shame Dumbledore didn’t show up as a witness for the defense this time, innit?”

“Don’t,” Remus growled, and slumped against the table.

“Oh, come on,” Sirius snapped. “We all knew what we were getting into. Six months isn’t even that bad, he’ll probably be able to hang onto his sanity ‘till spring— which is more than I can say for myself, if I’m being honest…”

“I understand that this is difficult for _you_ ,” Remus said, his voice shaking. “I know you’re unhappy. But—”

“—But _what_ , Moony!?” Sirius demanded. “Listen, this article about me— it’ll blow over in a week, Kingsley’ll spin a tale that I’ve been spotted skinny dipping in the middle of the Pacific Ocean, and the entire Wizarding world will eventually forget I exist while I rot here with the floorboards.”

Remus shot him a livid, strangled look.

“What?” Sirius demanded again. “Regretting not reporting me to Dumbledore?”

Remus opened his mouth, and then closed it again, suddenly looking like he was in extreme pain. With one swift movement, he strode across the kitchen, towards the door.

“Where are you going?” Sirius barked.

“I’ve got to meet with someone,” Remus said, not looking at him. “And then I have guard duty. I’ll be back before the end of the weekend.”

“Must be nice,” Sirius sneered, but his throat was constricting. “To be so busy, with so many _risky_ Order missions. Don’t get yourself Imperiused, now!” Remus stared him right in the eye, and then made an odd little jerk, as if he were going to move forwards, back towards him— but then, instead, he clenched his jaw, turned, and disappeared up the stairs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading! please keep commenting if you can find the time-- it means a lot to me and I love reading everyone's thoughts!


	21. The Meeting at the White Wyvern

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remus is forced to face certain realities.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to say-- last chapter was the most comments I have ever gotten, and it truly made me so, so stupidly happy. Please continue sharing your thoughts 🥺 I love hearing them. you're all so wonderful, thank you for sticking with this!

_September 7th, 1995  
_ _Diagon Alley // Knockturn Alley, London, England_

Remus’ meeting, set up by Mundungus, wasn’t until eight o'clock that evening, but he hadn’t wanted to remain in Grimmauld Place for one more second to watch Sirius laugh off his own safety.

So instead, he found himself roaming the cobbled streets of Diagon Alley, walking in and out of stores without a sense of purpose or direction, still steaming from their conversation. At every corner, he expected to find the lamp posts plastered with Sirius’ Wanted Posters again, just like they had been two years ago, but they were not. Or, perhaps, not yet. He scowled— he was torn between being thankful at the rather tame response, and being frustrated with it, because if Sirius got away with this, what would stop him from attempting something similar in the future? When it came to pushing one’s luck, there had always been one subtle difference between Sirius and James— James had usually known when to stop.

Remus went to the Leaky Cauldron for a solitary, drawn-out lunch, and then returned to the shops, loitering about as long as he dared, watching as the clouds grew heavier in the sky, slowly obstructing the sun from view. As the afternoon slipped into evening, it started to rain, and, giving Ollivander’s a wide berth, he found himself walking into Flourish and Blotts— the bell made a friendly tinkling noise as he entered, harmonizing along to the pattern of the rainfall outside.

“Hello,” a soft voice greeted as he entered. He looked over: a young witch was smiling at him from behind the counter, with a large book held open in her hands as if she had just been reading. “Escaping the rain?”

“A bit,” Remus smiled. He felt a very strange sensation of calm. Flourish and Blotts had always been his favorite place in Diagon Alley as a child— the summer before his first year, he had ended up spending hours there, flipping through books that weren’t even on his school list. There was something so intimate about the space: it always had a soft orange glow in the air, dust particles lazily drifting about, tall lopsided stacks of books spiraling towards the ceiling that threatened to topple over, but never did. There were stools tucked into corners, dragged there by customers just trying to find a space to themselves; the soft rug, which had to be hundreds of years old, was just as plush and vibrant as ever, muffling his footsteps as he advanced into the space. He looked around: the only other people in the shop was an old woman sitting on the rickety stairs, nose buried in a book of Ancient Runes, and a father with a baby strapped to his back, perusing the fairytale section.

“Can I help you find anything?” The witch behind the counter asked, pulling him from his reverie.

“Oh, no thank you,” Remus replied. But then, he paused, and suddenly, a thought occurred to him— “Wait, actually, I’m sorry— yes. Do you happen to have any remaining copies of the Defense Against the Dark Arts textbook assigned to Hogwarts students this year?”

The witch wrinkled her nose. “Yes,” she said, amused, closing her book and standing up from her stool.

“Not a great read, I take it?” Remus said, his mouth twitching. She chuckled.

“Well,” she said, reaching under the desk and pulling out a shiny textbook, “It’s not the most _stimulating_ book we’ve ever carried. Quite an unusual choice for a Defense class.” She handed it to him, and he accepted it, staring down curiously at the title: _Defensive Magical Theory_ by Wilbert Slinkhard.

“Theory…” he murmured softly. The witch snorted and shook her head, settling back onto her stool and re-opening her book.

“Do you mind if I sit here for a while and flip through this?” He asked her.

“Stay as long as you’d like,” she responded, eyes already glued to her page, smirking slightly. “I wouldn’t dream of trying to sell it to you.”

He retreated to the farthest corner of the store, down an aisle created solely by the piles of books flanking either sides. As he reached the end, all of the sounds, the responsibilities, the distractions of the outer world seemed to melt away. He sat himself down on a lopsided stool, and cracked open the book on his lap. It felt quite out of place, this shiny, brightly colored, crisp new publication, amongst the towers of soft, yellowed, worn, ancient stories. He flipped to the table-of-contents.

> **_Chapter One: “Basics for Beginners”……. 5  
> _ _Chapter Two: “Common Defensive Theories and their Derivation”……19  
> _ _Chapter Three: “The Case for Non-Offensive Responses to Magical Attack”…… 34_ **

He took a few moments to simply stare: there were fifty chapters in total. He flipped to page thirty-four.

> **_CHAPTER THREE  
> _ _The Case for Non-Offensive Responses to Magical Attack_ **
> 
> **_Magic is used in nearly every facet of the Wizarding World. We use it for transportation, entertainment, communication, production, personal grooming, transformation… the list goes on. Unfortunately, there is one aspect of magic that has been romanticized to an unhealthy degree, one irresponsibly aimed at young children and teenagers: offensive spells— hexes, jinxes, and curses— dangerous and violent responses, justified by the titles of “self-defense” and fostered through activities like school-sanctioned dueling clubs. The continued use, acceptance, and encouragement of this sort of magic creates an environment of rash, reactionary, wand-happy students, who grow to become adult wizards with short tempers, fragile egos, and severe lack of restraint._ **
> 
> **_There is, however, a way to avoid this fate. There are many effective, non-offensive ways to respond to an attack, ones that become obvious once a student lowers their wand, and chooses to think critically about the possibilities…_ **

Remus stopped reading mid-sentence, staring hard at the page, filled with derisive disbelief. Imagine, if Harry had lowered his wand in the graveyard, and had tried to _reason_ , at wandpoint, with Voldemort— imagine had he not known how to throw a charm as simple as _Expelliarmus_ —

He hesitated, and then flipped back to the first chapter.

And he read the entire thing.

How long he sat there, he did not know, but when he reached the ending, he felt an angry, bitter emptiness. He hadn’t known what he had expected— and perhaps he should have been thankful Dolores Umbridge hadn’t assigned a book called “Let’s Execute Half-Breeds (Unabridged)” or something of that sort— but the use of this textbook confirmed what Kingsley had suspected: there was not going to be any sort of teaching of defensive spells at Hogwarts this year.

He felt a shock of anger surge through him. He knew exactly how he would have rearranged the curriculum if he had been teaching: resisting the Imperius Curse would have become a standard lesson across the years; the shield charm, though difficult, would have to be taught to even first years, as well as the disarming charm, of course; the third years’ focus on dark creatures would take a greater focus on repelling dementors, Inferi, werewolves—

And he sat up so abruptly he nearly toppled over the bookshelf behind him. He yanked his pocket watch from his robes— five minutes to eight. Swearing under his breath, he closed the book with a snap, and hurried towards the front desk, which was now inhabited by a middle-aged wizard with dull blue eyes and thinning blonde hair, who looked quite shocked to see him.

“Sir!” He exclaimed. “We closed well over two hours ago!”

“My apologies,” Remus said hurriedly.

“How did you— were you sitting in the far corner?” The man asked, exasperated.

“Yes,” Remus said, frowning.

“Merlin’s beard— I knew it— Ivy’s charmed that spot again— that’s why I didn’t see— Oooh, I’ve caught her this time, the irresponsible little—”

“My apologies,” Remus repeated, a bit annoyed. “I lost track of the time.” He handed the book over to the wizard, who looked down in delight.

“Ah, the new Hogwarts Defense book!” He exclaimed, taking it in his hands. “You a teacher or something?”

“No,” Remus said, fingering his watch. “I was just… curious.”

“Never too old to refresh your studies, eh?” He said jovially, placing it underneath the counter. “I skimmed it myself! Slinkhard’s a great change of pace, he’s sure to add some much needed _structure_ to those kids’ curriculums, wouldn’t you agree?”

“He certainly has an interesting perspective,” Remus said politely. “Again, apologies for overstaying my welcome. Have a good evening.” And he turned and hurried from the store, onto the dark, cobbled streets.

While Diagon Alley was mostly deserted at this time of night, Knockturn Alley had just started to come alive. Remus heard the sounds of life long before he turned onto the narrow walkway— when he did so, he self-consciously raised his hood— it would be brilliant if he ran into Lucius Malfoy and actually did get himself Imperiused, like Sirius had said so scathingly as he had left Grimmauld Place this morning. However, the nooks and crannies seemed quite void of Death Eaters— it was mostly people muttering together, laughing, drinking, exchanging potions. The dingy pubs were alive with excitement— and it was to one of these Remus headed, an ancient-looking building with a faded sign that read _“The White Wyvern.”_

He pushed open the door and strode quietly towards the back. Nobody took any notice of him: they were all busy with their own conversations, with their own friends, with their own drinks. He walked straight to the farthest corner, a small circular table, where a single figure sat hunched over, head leaning on her hand, her cheek pressed to her palm…

“Hello Eleanor,” Remus said quietly.

She looked up at him, unimpressed. Medium height and plump, she wore robes even more frayed and patched than his own. Though her dark brown hair was hanging stringy and unwashed around her face, it didn’t obscure her shockingly amber eyes, glaring bright and challenging through the layers of irritation and exhaustion.

“Lupin,” she grunted. “You’re late.”

“I’m very sorry,” he said sincerely, and slowly lowered himself onto other chair, across from her. She eyed him warily, and took an enormous swig of firewhiskey, apparently sizing him up.

“You look terrible,” she said decidedly. “Your hair’s going gray.”

“I rather hoped it made me look a bit distinguished,” Remus said, smiling half-heartedly.

“It makes you look old,” she muttered, and took another swig.

“Well, it has been a while.”

“That’s what you brought me here for?” She asked sarcastically. “To reminisce about one night seven years ago? You on the pull right now?”

“No,” Remus said, unblushingly.

“Good,” Eleanor grumbled. She glared back down, swirling her goblet with her fist. “‘Cuz silver _foxes_ really aren’t my type.”

“You’re older than me,” Remus pointed out, refusing to acknowledge the joke.

“Not in wolf years,” she shot back, and then she smirked. Remus hesitated, watching her carefully. Well, she had never really been one for small talk, and this was as good a way as any to try and segue into the purpose of the meeting…

“So you know Mundungus Fletcher,” he said carefully.

“All criminals know each other,” she said sarcastically. “Don’t you know that? I’m more surprised that _you_ know him.”

“I know you,” Remus countered.

“No you don’t,” she said airily, draining her goblet. “Anyways, I’m not super fond of the bloke, but he’s great in a scam. I use ‘im when I need to. And again, how do _you_ know him?”

“Through Albus Dumbledore,” Remus said truthfully. “And that’s actually why I wanted to talk to y—”

“ _Dumbledore,_ ” Eleanor interrupted, laughing bitterly. “You’re still on him, eh? Well, hate to break it to you mate, but he’s gone and hired Dolores Umbridge, so you might wanna find yourself a new hero.”

“He didn’t hire her,” Remus explained patiently: he had been expecting this. “The Ministry appointed her to the position. He had no choice.”

“Yeah, well, they aren’t very happy with him right now, are they?” She laughed darkly. He shifted in his seat. He was just going to have to go ahead and ask her, because Dumbledore had asked him to, because Dumbledore needed to know, they _all_ needed to know how far Voldemort was reaching, who he was recruiting, who believed his false promises of a better life…

“And you?” Remus asked quietly. “Do you believe—”

“—That You-Know-Who’s back?” She interrupted dryly. “‘Course I do. ’M not an idiot.” And then, she paused, and looked at him, eyebrows rising in sudden realization. “Oh! Oh-ho- _ho_ , _that’s_ why you wanted to meet with me.”

“What?”

“You wanna know if he’s _recruiting_ us.”

“…Yes,” Remus said truthfully. “I suppose I do.”

She looked at him for a full minute, and then threw her head back and laughed, loudly, bitterly. Remus waited for her to stop, but she kept going, stood up, grabbed her empty goblet, and brought it to the bar. Remus continued to sit there, wondering if she was just going to leave, but before long she had returned, this time with two goblets, both sloshing to the brim with firewhiskey. She slammed one down in front of him on her way to her seat.

“Thank you,” Remus said, surprised.

“You’re paying,” she informed him. She took a gulp. “For both of ‘em.”

“That’s fair,” he said heavily. They drank in silence for a moment. The pub was getting louder and more crowded— he surveyed the faces of those entering, but did not recognize anyone, friend or foe. He did not enjoy spending time in Knockturn Alley, but Eleanor was perfectly at ease here: he suddenly imagined her and Mundungus sitting at this very table, negotiating over the stolen cauldrons. He suppressed a smile.

“I’ve only heard whispers so far, by the way,” she muttered suddenly. “Rumors.”

“We believe he’s trying to maintain a low profile for the time being,” Remus nodded. “But I worried that maybe… Greyback.”

“Oh yeah,” she scowled. “Bloody menace. When he gets wind of it all he’ll probably raid an orphanage in celebration.” She stared off into space. “He’ll probably be the one doing all the _recruiting_ you’re worried about.”

Remus felt a sudden surge of desperation. “You know it’s empty promises, don’t you?” He asked, a frantic edge to his voice. “Volde—”

“— _Fuckin’_ hell—”

“— _mort_ is simply telling us what we’re desperate to hear. There will be no follow through, no actual improvement on our standard of living, not in the long run— he doesn’t care about our kind, or anyone he deems lesser than pureblood wizards— he just needs the numbers.”

“Mmm,” she mused, turning to him, her face quite unemotional. “Right. Sounds like _you_ might need numbers, too.”

Remus looked back at her. “The more people we have fighting back, the better chance we have to delay his rise to power, or perhaps prevent it completely.”

“Right, okay,” she rasped, and she pushed her goblet across the table with an awful scraping sound, before crossing her arms defiantly over her chest. “And if we stop him, then what? The evil is defeated and goodness wins, right, just like last time— oh wait!” Her voice grew an octave, but still no one paid them any attention. “That’s right, goodness _didn’t_ win, because nothing was ever bloody good in the first place!”

“I know,” Remus said, a bit annoyed. “Trust me, I know—”

“And You-Know-Who went down, and finally, all of the witches and wizards could breathe a sigh of relief!” She persisted through him, mouth twisting. “But not us, no, things got even _worse_ for us. Wolfsbane Potion gets invented for _us_ , and the rich wanker who created it gets a bloody fucking Order of Merlin, but what do we get? We can’t hold a job once employers find out what we are, and then we can’t even _apply_ for some jobs because of this bloody decree, so we can’t afford our own Potion! And so we resort to stealing ingredients, and brewing it ‘illegally’ ourselves, and then get slapped with fines we can’t pay, so off to Azkaban for us! The whole thing is so ironic, isn’t it Lupin, because you end up realizing that the biggest criminals are the ones making the laws, not breaking them. They set us up for failure.”

“You don’t have to tell me that,” Remus said, his voice tight. “I have, in case you’ve forgotten, _also_ experienced this firsthand.”

“ _I_ haven’t forgotten,” she replied. “But sometimes I feel like _you_ have.”

“Excuse me?” Remus said, but his voice was shaking.

“Look,” Eleanor sighed. “I’m not trying to be an arse. I’m just telling you— look at the shite we get. No matter which side wins, goblins, elves, merfolk, centaurs, and werewolves always lose. If there’s gonna be another war or something, what makes you think this time will be any different?”

She might as well have punched him in the throat. He was slammed with the memory, third-year in the Gryffindor common room:

_“We’re young— things can change,” Sirius had said._

_“Maybe,” Remus had replied._

_“And if they don’t, we’ll make them change,” Sirius followed up, passion in every word._

_“Hear, hear!” James cried._

He had thought them so foolish, so naïve. They hadn’t understood. Not really. But… they had cared.

“I have faith in humanity,” Remus said, finally. “And that includes us. I don’t believe we can abandon ourselves, or the ones we care about. I am not asking you to take up arms with the Ministry— at the moment, _especially_ , we do not even have similar aims. They _are_ corrupt, they _are_ naïve, and they are held together by wealth, propaganda, and a tight grip on their own false reality.” He swallowed, but she was still sitting there, actually listening. “What I _am_ asking is for you to care about people. Wizards. Werewolves and goblins. Vampires, centaurs, merfolk, elves. Giants and half-giants. Squibs. Muggles. Our world is laden with flaws, with problems to solve. But if we sit by and let Voldemort take over, everything _will_ become worse, and we will face even larger barriers to solving those problems.”

There was a short, charged pause. And then—

“Lesser of two evils, huh?” Eleanor laughed darkly.

“…For now,” Remus said softly. She looked at him for a long time. He rather feared that she would punch him. Instead, however, she reached over, and in a surprisingly tender moment, patted his hand.

“You shouldn’t have been sacked,” she said, voice low. “From that teaching post.” He blinked at her, surprised.

“I resigned,” he corrected her, wondering how she even knew, or why she had cared to find out.

“You hurt someone?” She guessed bitterly.

“Almost,” Remus responded, feeling slightly ill.

“Someone important?”

He thought of that night, the one time he forgot to take his potion. He thought of Hermione, who had apparently known his secret for months. He thought about Ron, forcing himself to stand on a broken leg. And then he thought of Sirius, hugging him so tightly it was if they had never parted, and of Harry, who had cast a corporeal Patronus that night.

“…Yes,” he whispered, and he hated how hoarse his voice sounded.

“I’m sure you were a great teacher,” Eleanor said quietly.

“I was alright,” Remus said, his throat tight. She rolled her eyes, but didn’t argue. They sat in silence again, letting the rowdiness of the other patrons wash over them. Eleanor drank until her goblet was empty, and then shot him a look.

“You ever end up with anyone?”

“What?” Remus said, feeling color rising in his cheeks, for this question seemed to have come quite out of nowhere. “I— no. I’m not— you know—”

“I do know,” she said, bluntly. “You still hate yourself, don’t you?”

“I’m sorry?” Remus asked, pulse jumping.

“S’alright, mate,” she muttered. “I still hate myself, too.” And then she laughed. “Mad, innit? How we can’t let ourselves be happy. Like, I can talk all hypothetically about what I deserve, but when it comes down to it, it’s like…” she trailed off, and shrugged. “Anyways, I’ve gotta go. Full moon’s in two, I dunno how _you’re_ still bloody awake, I feel like fuckin’ death.” She stood up from the chair, scraping it backwards, and pulled on a dirty, doxy-eaten traveling cloak.

“Thank you for coming,” he said, remaining in his seat.

She shrugged noncommittally. “I’m not promising anything. But…” she scowled at the ground. “I’ll— I'll write you if Greyback starts building a child army.”

“Thank you,” Remus said, knowing that she may have meant that to be a joke, but that they both knew it wasn’t one.

“And Lupin,” she said, fixing him with a hard stare. “I was lying. You’re still a catch. Even if you’re old.”

He forced a smile. “Take care of yourself.”

“Ha,” she snorted, shaking her head. “If only it were that easy, eh?” And then she turned, and trudged out of the pub, grimacing as if every step was causing her enormous amounts of pain.

— -

_September 8th, 1995  
_ _12 Grimmauld Place, London, England_

It was after three o’clock in the morning when Remus Apparated back to Grimmauld Place, Tonks having relieved him from guard duty. After what happened to Sturgis, they’d been forced to heighten their precautions: security questions, invisibility cloak handoffs outside, staggered, non-consistent shifts, at night, someone Disillusioned on the outside of the building, mandatory reports filed afterwards…

Though he had forced a laugh at Tonks’ security question (“What did Sirius’ mum call me when we were in the hallway two days ago?”), he was feeling truly, truly… awful. The heaviness of his meeting with Eleanor seemed to amplify the already aching, painful weight of the coming moon, made all the worse by staying up, guarding the prophecy, remaining on high alert for six hours. His identity as a werewolf— easy to almost ignore when he was in Grimmauld Place, supplied with Wolfsbane Potion, surrounded by people who accepted him— seemed to have crashed down upon him again, the reality of it settling in his bones and seeping through his bloodstream. His stomach was taut with nausea, his brain was pounding against his eye sockets— it was a feat that he hadn’t splinched himself on his way back to headquarters.

He hoped and prayed that Sirius would be asleep when he arrived, but he entered the kitchen to find him hunched in a chair in front of the fire, staring angrily into its smoldering depths.

“Back at last to file your report?” Sirius asked, without even turning to look at him. “Parchment’s on the table.”

“Thank you,” Remus said listlessly. He dragged himself to the table, and slumped down into the nearest seat, his own back to Sirius now, and picked up a quill lying nearby. His hands seemed to shake.

“I was just talking to Harry,” Sirius said, after a few minutes passed. “Through the Floo.”

“Oh,” Remus replied, fighting to maintain a coolly polite tone despite the persistent pulsing of his headache. “Good. How is he doing?”

“He’s fine,” he replied. There was a short silence, and then he said, “I offered to come visit him on his next Hogsmeade weekend.”

Remus put down the quill: he found he could not maintain a grip on it. Bile was rising in his throat: he closed his eyes, willing himself not to lose it, and said, calmly, “Sirius—”

“He said no,” Sirius said shortly. “Reckoned it was too dangerous.”

Remus said nothing, only vaguely processing a feeling of deep relief and gratefulness towards Harry, as well as renewed annoyance towards Sirius for putting his godson in that position at all. His stomach was churning sickeningly— he realized that he hadn’t eaten since lunch yesterday, since then only having a firewhiskey that Eleanor had planted down in front of him— and this reminder seemed to make the nausea worse, lurching and twisting within him…

“So,” Sirius huffed furiously. “If you were planning on continuing your own little scolding session, you needn’t waste your time, because I’ve got the message loud and—”

It must have been the clatter of Remus’ chair falling to the ground that cut him off, because Remus barely made it to the sink before he was throwing his head forward and vomiting into the drain.

“Remus!?” Sirius’ voice, so snappish and bitter only seconds ago, was now only panicked. Remus felt a pair of hands on his back and he retched again, his throat burning, his arms shaking, desperate not to black out.

“What’s wrong?” Sirius demanded. “Shite, what’s wrong?” Remus coughed shakily, and brought a trembling hand up to his face to wipe his mouth. He tried to straighten up, but realized quite quickly that he could not support his own weight— he swayed a bit, but Sirius grabbed him, and dragged him over to the nearest chair. He practically fell into the seat.

“Did you forget to take your potion, or something?” Sirius asked, his worried face blurring in and out of focus. “Did Snape bloody tamper with it?”

“No, no,” Remus rasped. “I’ve been taking it, I just—” and Eleanor’s face swam in his mind and he nearly vomited again.

“You shouldn’t have done guard duty tonight,” Sirius said furiously. “What is Dumbledore playing at, having you do a night shift two days before the full moon!?”

“I… volunteered,” Remus muttered weakly.

“You wanker,” Sirius exclaimed disbelievingly, throwing his arms into the air. “How can you get on _me_ about taking risks—”

Remus pitched forward in the seat: Sirius reached back down to grab him again, his hands firm, their heat burning through Remus’ robes like an iron.

“Hey, hey,” Sirius muttered, holding him tightly, eyebrows knit together. Remus suddenly felt like crying. He felt stupid and pathetic, and sickly, and he _hated_ feeling like this around other people, especially Sirius, because it was embarrassing, and he’d never be used to it, and he was overwhelmed, washed over with guilt, guilt that he had access to Wolfsbane Potion and Eleanor didn’t, and most _werewolves_ didn’t, and how could he have gone on and on to Eleanor about the future of their worth when she was right that he hated himself, that he hated everything he was—

“Hey,” Sirius said again, and it was a whisper. “You’ve got to go to bed.”

“No,” Remus rasped.

“You’re ill, and it’s three in the morning,” Sirius pointed out.

“I’ve got to finish the report,” Remus countered stupidly. Sirius rolled his eyes.

“Did anything even bloody happen?”

Remus frowned. “No. But—”

“Then it can wait, you stupid prat,” Sirius growled. “What’s wrong with you? You aren’t normally this bad when you’ve had some potion in you.”

Remus didn’t respond, but he needed to pull himself together, because Sirius’ hands had been on him for far too long, and their current position was causing him a completely different sort of distress, one that he could not handle right now, not on top of everything. So, with enormous effort, he straightened himself up in the chair, bringing his back poker-straight against it, and took in a deep, rattling breath.

“I’m alright,” he stated.

Sirius stared at him for a few seconds of scathing disbelief, and then rolled his eyes up to the ceiling. “I can’t _believe_ you’re making me be responsible right now. A bloke has his limits, Moony!”

In any other situation, Remus would have commented dryly that Sirius did not seem to understand the meaning of limits, but he was too confused and tired and frustrated, so instead, he extracted his wand from his robes with difficulty, and waved it towards the far cabinet. The doors swung open, and a bar of chocolate soared out, into his outstretched hand. He broke off a piece and let it rest on his tongue, melting slowly, overpowering the stale taste of bile. Sirius was staring at him so fiercely it hurt to look.

“I’m sorry,” Remus finally said.

“Don’t be an idiot,” Sirius responded immediately.

“You know, Snape _is_ risking a lot to make the potion for me,” Remus said. “If the Ministry caught wind of it, he’d be in enormous amounts of trouble.”

“The Ministry can get fucked,” Sirius snapped. “And so can Snape.” He took Remus’ hand, and pulled him roughly up to standing. “Now, can you walk yourself to bed, or would you prefer me to carry you bridal- style?”

Ten minutes later, they were lying side by side under the covers in Sirius’ darkened room. The chocolate seemed to have settled Remus’ stomach a bit, though he could already tell that he would be ravenous when he woke up. That is, of course, if he were ever able to fall asleep again. His thoughts were too full of overlapping patterns and connections, of the Ministry denying Voldemort’s return, which lead to Dolores Umbridge teaching her students not to fight back, of Wizarding society’s awful treatment of non-humans and non-purebloods, forcing them to the outskirts to be easily swept up by Voldemort’s hollow but manipulative rhetoric. He thought about action and non-action, and how often he himself seemed to fall into the latter category, which was why he felt so useful fulfilling tasks for the Order, for people who, for the most part, didn’t treat him as dirty or diseased…

“Hey,” Sirius whispered through the dark. “You awake still?”

“Yes,” Remus responded monotonously.

There was a long, bizarrely charged silence, and when Sirius spoke again, it was hesitant— almost awkward.

“Y’know” he muttered. “If, er— if you’re still in pain, mate, I could… I mean, it used to work, didn’t it, back then… just, you should get some sleep, is all…”

“What are you talking about, Sirius?” Remus asked wearily.

He actually heard Sirius swallow, and Remus’ heart suddenly started to race for no apparent reason.

“You know,” Sirius said shortly. “When you used to get like this, I’d— you know, I used to rub your back, and— well, I mean, it _worked_ , you’d knock out like you’d been bloody bludgered.”

Remus didn’t know how his pulse could have sped up when he seemed to have stopped breathing. He opened his mouth, and then closed it.

“… Just offering,” Sirius muttered awkwardly, sounding angry at himself for even suggesting it. “I was just…” he trailed off into an embarrassed silence. Remus stared into the darkness above him. If he were thinking clearly, he would have said no, he would have said not to bother, he would have thought to avoid the consequences that were sure to arise from having Sirius’ hands on his back…

But he had not been touched, been cared for, in so many years. And he was tired, and he was lonely, and he was in pain.

_“Mad, innit?” Eleanor had said. “How we can’t let ourselves be happy.”_

“…Okay,” Remus barely whispered.

“What?” Sirius asked quickly.

“Yes,” Remus said. “I’d— it could help.” His mouth felt like it was full of sand. “Only if you want to, of course. Or— not _want to_ , obviously, I mean—”

“No, I want to,” Sirius said quietly.

“…Okay,” Remus choked out again. There was a sound of rustling on Sirius’ side of the bed, the sound of him sitting up, adjusting his position— Remus’ heart was thudding against his ribs like an unrelenting hammer—

“Could you turn over?” Sirius whispered.

“Yes,” Remus said in a strangled voice, and he flipped himself rather ungracefully onto his stomach. He lay there for a moment, waiting, and nothing happened for so long that Remus wondered if this was perhaps some sort of cruel joke, but then Sirius’ hands were on his shoulders, thin but nimble, burning hot, kneading into the fabric on his back, the pressure radiating into his taut, prickling skin, seeping through his aching muscles.

A breath released from Remus’ mouth that he didn’t know he was holding. He was terrified to move, to blink, but his body was betraying him, relaxing in earnest, melting underneath Sirius’ touch.

“Can I…?” Sirius asked hoarsely, and with a shiver, Remus felt the pad of Sirius’ thumb brush under the collar of his nightshirt, asking the rest of the question for him.

“…Yes,” Remus breathed back, and then Sirius’ hands were under the fabric, fiery hot against the scarred expanse of his back, gentle and firm all at once, and for the second time that night Remus was sure he was going to cry, but instead of crying, he crushed his face into the pillow, closed his eyes, and lay there, breathing, every touch causing his mind to blur, allowing him, over time, to succumb to the uncomplicated embrace of sleep.


	22. Same Time, Same Place

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dung has some news to share, overheard from the Hog's Head. Sirius also has some news to share, that Remus isn't quite expecting to hear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sweet jesus, im sorry this update took so long. i have never had so much trouble writing a chapter before-- this must be the 12th gd version!!

_October 6th, 1995  
_ _12 Grimmauld Place_

The month of September passed slowly and uneventfully. Despite Remus’, and Harry’s, and Molly’s _and_ Dumbledore’s reaction to the Daily Prophet article, no Aurors had broken down Sirius’ door, wands aloft, and carted him off to Azkaban. Kingsley seemed to handle it at the Ministry for the most part, planting false leads and investigating only the most bogus of claims. And not everyone was as uptight about the whole affair: Tonks, it seemed, found the whole thing a bit funny too, and jokingly offered to disguise herself as a “Sirius Black- doppelgänger” next time she dropped by the Ministry in order to create reasonable suspicion that it had actually been a false sighting.

And things with Remus, well…

Now that the summer was over, peoples’ jobs had started to pick up more, requiring Remus to start covering more guard shifts, and run more errands for the Order. However, when he _was_ at Grimmauld Place, things had been… well… _charged_.

Sirius couldn’t help it. He couldn’t help staring at the steady rise and fall of Remus’ chest as he fell asleep at night, and before he woke up in the morning. He couldn’t help but admire his scarred hands as they gripped a quill, his gentle but firm voice as he spoke in meetings. It had been easier to distract himself when all of the Weasleys and Harry had been living with them, but now that it was just the two of them, it was proving quite difficult to keep his mind off of Remus’ sharp hazel eyes, his graying brown hair… and, well, on the days where Sirius was all alone, if he were to fantasize about pinning Remus against the family tapestry and shagging him into oblivion, well… they were just fantasies, after all.

The problem was, these fantasies went beyond sexual frustration. It was the somersaults his stomach did when Remus smiled wearily at him, it was the way his chest had seized when Remus had all but offered to raise Ginny and Ron back when Molly had fought the boggart. It was the way that the other night, he had had the most bizarre dream, in which he had been strutting down an aisle, arm in arm with Molly Weasley, who had tearfully given him away to a beaming Remus, who was cloaked in dress robes of spangled silver, and they’d held hands under an altar as Harry clapped and cheered, and as they kissed, Harry morphed into James, who threw up his hands in mock-disgust and laughed, “Keep it in your robes, you two,” as Lily laughed next to him, linking arms with Wormtail, who morphed into Kreacher, who morphed into Bellatrix Lestrange…

So, it was safe to say that when Mundungus left a note in the report that simply said ‘big news to discuss,’ Sirius was quite thankful for something else to occupy his mind. The Order met early in the morning, which wasn’t probably the greatest choice, because Dung was, of course, late. However, with the rest of them slumped around the table, waiting, and it gave Sirius other people, other than Remus, to focus on.

Snape and McGonagall were sitting on either side of Dumbledore, them all having come from Hogwarts. Dumbledore was sitting there with his normal light, pleasant air, but from the way that McGonagall was pursing her lips and Snape was scowling at the table, all was not well at the school. Sirius had seen the article in the _Daily Prophet_ of Umbridge’s appointment to Hogwarts High Inquisitor, whatever the bloody hell that was, and he had quite hoped in a silver-lining moment that she might’ve sacked Snape. But no, there he was, greasy as ever.

Lavanya Patil was back, as the current family she was tutoring gave her the weekend off, and she apparently had news to report, too. She was looking a bit tired, but seemed in good spirits, cackling loudly about something with Kingsley. Hestia was in deep conversation with Bill, who, despite his continued lack of success with the goblins, was looking quite happy these days. Arthur and Molly sat next to them, across from Doge, Diggle, and Moody. Emmeline sat alone, poker straight and jaw tight. She had always been a bit stoic and closed off, but ever since Sturgis had been arrested, she had been even more so. Or at least, that’s what Remus had said he noticed.

And now, of bloody course, he was thinking about Remus again. Scowling, he looked sideways at him: he was holding a vial of Wolfsbane Potion in his hand, and Tonks was leaning forward to sniff it— when she raised her head with a completely different nose, face twisted in disgust, Remus actually laughed. Sirius grinned appreciatively: Tonks’ very existence in this house felt like a triumph: she was living proof that someone could truly escape the Black Family tree, and be happy.

Mundungus finally shuffled in, after nearly twenty minutes, and Sirius was pretty sure the only reason Molly didn’t hex him where he stood was because Dumbledore was in the room. He made his way to the end of the table, directly opposite Dumbledore, and, apparently oblivious to everyone else in the room, sat down, and poured himself a goblet of wine. He took an enormous gulp, and then looked up, apparently surprised to see every eye trained upon him, waiting.

“Oh, uh,” he mumbled, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. “How goes it?”

“You had news?” McGonagall said curtly.

“Oh, oh yeah,” he remembered, and stood up. “Yeah, get a load o’ this— I was tailing Harry yesterday, and ‘e ended up in the Hog’s Head… and, well…” he took another sip of wine and then cracked a grin. “Well, ‘e’s starting a bloody rebellion, isn’t ‘e?”

There was a very loud silence.

“I beg your pardon?” McGonagall exclaimed incredulously, at the same time as Sirius said, “Sorry mate, what?” Dumbledore merely blinked.

“Yeah, uh,” Mundungus grinned. “Guess I should explain a bit.”

“You think so, do you!?” Molly exclaimed nervously.

“Hold onto yer knickers,” Mundungus said airly, waving his hand. “‘M getting to it.” He shifted his weight, suddenly looking quite pleased with himself. “Well, ‘lotta Hogwarts students showed up, righ’, whole host of ‘em, poor Aberforth didn’t know how to handle tha’ much gold…” he paused wistfully, as if he regretted not taking some of that gold off of his hands, and then continued, “Seems like Hermione Granger organized the thing, she, Harry, and Ron… talked on abou’ how shitey Umbridge’s teachings are, so they decided to create some sort of secret Defense Against the Dark Arts group,” and he grinned widely, “wi’ Harry as their leader.”

Lupin sat up poker straight in his chair. “Harry volunteered to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts?” He asked, eyes sparking with surprise and interest.

“Well, not so much _volunteered_ as was coerced into it,” Mundungus snickered. “Had to watch half the students shower ‘im with compliments to convince ‘im of ‘is own heroics, while the other half just seemed to wanna know what You-Know-Who looked like. Either way, he agreed to teach ‘em spells and stuff. An’ people seemed really into it, agreed to meet once a week, signed their names, the lot of ‘em…” he turned to Lavanya— “Both your nieces joined up…”

“Excellent,” Lavanya grinned devilishly. “Always told my brother they were fighters.”

“…And Molly, Arthur, all your kids too…”

Molly let out a strangled noise.

“…Yeah, and they haven’t found a meeting place, but they seem pretty dedicated,” Mundungus finished, shrugging. “Creating their own little Order, aren’t they?”

“Brilliant!” Sirius exclaimed— he nearly started to laugh with delight. “Of course they are!”

“Are you mad?” Molly hissed at him. “I thought we _all_ agreed that they’re too young to be involved!”

“With the Order of the _Phoenix_ , maybe!” Sirius nearly whooped, who had never agreed to such a thing. “This is their own thing, is it?”

“Did you say something to them?” Molly demanded. “Did you know they were planning this? I know you’ve been writing Harry—”

“I had no idea!” Sirius laughed, brimming with pride. “How can you even blame me for this— he’s _teaching Defense_ — if anyone got the idea in his head, it’d be ol’ Professor Lupin over here!”

“I had absolutely no knowledge of this before now,” Remus denied calmly, but Sirius rather thought he, too, was holding himself differently— his eyes were sparkling with the same sort of fierce pride that Sirius himself was overflowing with. Tonks, too, was grinning ear to ear.

“Is nobody else concerned!?” Molly exclaimed furiously, looking back and forth across the table— her eyes landed imploringly on Dumbledore, who had still not said a word. “If the Ministry catches wind of this— haven’t we all said that they’re just _looking_ for a reason to get Harry in trouble!? And now, what, half the student body?”

“Ah, but this thought wouldn’t have occurred to Potter,” Snape sneered. “He very rarely pauses to weigh the consequences of his actions, or to consider the safety of those around him.”

“On the contrary, Severus,” Remus said, his voice rising. “It seems to me like Harry, Ron, and Hermione created this group with the very _intent_ to ensure his fellow students’ safety, by teaching them to protect themselves.”

Molly shot Remus an incredulous look of betrayal: perhaps she assumed that he, ever the pragmatist, would take her side. The fact that he didn’t, that he was supporting Harry’s rebellious endeavors despite the risk, filled Sirius with another enormous wave of pride and affection.

“It was only a matter of time,” McGonagall chimed in, curtly, her lips pressed so thin they nearly disappeared, “Ms. Granger does not take well to a stale curriculum.” Snape looked like he was being forced to suck on something sour.

“Dumbledore,” Molly implored desperately. Dumbledore was still sitting silently, his fingertips pressed together, looking off into the distance, clearly thinking very hard; at the sound of his name, however, he looked up to meet Molly’s eye.

“It is not my place to interfere with a students’ right to extracurricular activities,” he said quietly. “I learned my lesson from the Gobstones Club incident of 1956— it took poor Argus weeks to remove the slime from the Astronomy tower.”

“The Ministry will not see this as an _extracurricular activity_ ,” Molly countered, exasperated. “They’ll see it as a direct challenge, you know that!”

“That’s true,” Kingsley said grimly. “But it sounds like the kids aren’t exactly going public with it.”

“What does that matter?” Molly exclaimed. “That makes it even more suspicious— if Dolores Umbridge finds out— she’s the High Inquisitor, isn’t she; she can pass decrees, make new rules…”

“Ah, rules— so rigid, and therefore, so easily broken,” Dumbledore mused softly. “If I have learned anything from running a school, it is one set of rules does not work for everybody. I have learned to trust that every student will cultivate their own guidelines of what is right and what is wrong. As long as those guidelines do not put themselves and others at risk, I usually find that I can respect them.”

Sirius nearly forgot that he was supposed to be frustrated with Dumbledore, he was too elated with the whole affair.

“But of course, Molly, as their mother, you have the right to give your children any sort of advice on the matter,” Dumbledore continued. “And Sirius, you to Harry.”

“I’ll Floo him tomorrow and give him a _stern_ talking to,” Sirius saluted mockingly. Remus rolled his eyes, but Sirius was delighted to see that his lips were also twitching with amusement.

“Well,” McGonagall said severely. “All I can say is I _do_ hope this will inspire Potter to make greater efforts to _control his temper_ in Dolores’ class.” At her words, Snape scowled, as if he found it doubtful that anything could keep Harry from talking back to a teacher.

“Yes, well— I’d like you to continue to keep an eye on him, of course,” Dumbledore said. “Minerva, Severus.” They both nodded curtly as he looked off into the distance, his voice growing quieter. “Anger is a vulnerable state,” he murmured, more to himself than to anyone else. “Easily taken advantage of…” and his eyes shifted almost imperceptibly back to Snape, as if he were considering asking him a question, but then thought better of it.

The meeting moved on from Harry and his student-organized resistance, as Lavanya took the floor, talking about the family she was tutoring for: the childrens’ aunt and uncle were Alecto and Amycus Carrow, Death Eater twins who apparently were _quite_ interested in their nephews’ pre-education, and the Hogwarts curriculum in general.

“Seems like the little kids could use their own sort of defense group,” Lavanya joked tightly, “Against their own families.”

And Sirius was quite inclined to agree with her.

After she finished speaking, Moody took over the scene, bombarding them all with the increasingly ridiculous levels of security details and precautions regarding the prophecy. As this didn’t really concern Sirius, he found himself drifting off back into a familiar state: staring at Remus.

For, the thing was, this meeting had not managed to distract him from Remus at all. Watching his firm approval of Harry’s actions, watching him calmly oppose Snape… well, to be quite honest, it was all Sirius could do to keep from jumping his bones right there on the table. Instead, he placated himself by imagining visions of Harry teaching faceless students how to jinx someone’s legs into jelly, replaced by visions of Remus teaching those same students, replaced by visions, real this time, memories— a memory of himself, aged fourteen, Remus using a shield charm so powerful that Mulciber Junior had been knocked clean off his feet, Remus reaching out and grabbing hold of Sirius’ sweaty hand, pulling him away from the scene…

_“Blimey, Moony,” Sirius had whispered as they rounded the corner. “What was that about?”_

_“He was about to jinx you,” Remus had replied. “While your back was turned, too, I had to do something!”_

_“Oh, wow… my hero!”_

_“Don’t make me regret it.”_

Remus had held his hand the entire journey back up to Gryffindor Tower.

Sirius looked down at the table, now. Remus’ hand was lying there on the wood, larger, older, more heavily scarred. But probably still just as soft, just as steady.

He wanted to hold it now. He wanted to hold Remus’ hand so badly, his whole body ached for it. And he didn’t know how much longer he could keep such desires in.

— -

_October 7th, 1995  
_ _12 Grimmauld Place, London_

Remus woke up only a little before midnight, after having slept all day. It was always an awfully disorienting feeling, waking up when he’d normally be falling asleep, missing the sun completely, but it was one he was used to, especially in the days proceeding and succeeding the full moon.

The past week had been horrible, with every sip of Wolfsbane potion lightening his body but weighing down his mind. The only real positive distraction had been the recent news of Harry creating a defense group. Molly, of course, had been in a right state all weekend: after yesterday’s meeting had ended, she had nearly torn Sirius’ head off before giving him a message to pass onto Ron. Remus understood her fear: he would not be forgetting her boggart anytime soon. But he inexplicably had to agree with Sirius on this particular issue: far from feeling afraid for Harry, he felt— well, he didn’t quite know exactly what he felt, actually. Proud, surely, like Sirius was, but something else, too… touched? Moved? Defense Against the Dark Arts had been the thing that had connected him to Harry in the first place— Sirius and James had always been brilliant at nearly every subject, but Remus had been the only one to get an O in Defense— the fact that it had been Harry’s best subject, too… the fact that he was teaching it now… well, he wondered what Harry was planning on doing, what spells he would choose…

And perhaps it was this thought that drove Remus downstairs towards the kitchen, where Sirius was currently mid-Floo conversation with Harry himself. Maybe— only if Harry wanted it, of course— Remus could offer some ideas… but, then again, if Harry had wanted his help, he would have asked, and Dumbledore told them not to interfere— not that that would stop _Sirius_ from interfering, of course, but that was different. Still, Remus curiously pushed open the kitchen door…

…Only to be greeted with Sirius leaping backwards from the fire, toppling to the floor, and smashing into a chair with the lack of coordination usually only executed by Tonks. The flames flickered from a roaring green to their natural orange and red as Sirius sat up, swearing and rubbing his head. At the noise, Kreacher stuck his head out of the boiler room, glaring in interest.

“Sirius?” Remus asked, unclear whether he was supposed to be concerned or amused. “Are you alright?” Sirius wrenched his head around in surprise.

“Moony!” He exclaimed, sounding suspiciously guilty about something. “How long have you been standing there?”

Remus looked to Sirius’ face, to the fireplace, to the still-burning coals that had scattered themselves onto the floor. “What just happened?”

“Nothing,” Sirius said quickly. Remus rolled his eyes so hard he felt them actively strain in his sockets.

“You know, you would have thought after all this time, you would’ve become a better liar.”

“I’m an excellent liar,” Sirius defended, apparently wounded. Remus shot him an exasperated look as he could manage— Sirius scowled. “Look, I just had a close call in the fire,” he muttered. “Nothing to freak out about.”

“What sort of close call?” Remus asked, as calmly as he could manage.

“Someone’s bloody hand infiltrated our conversation,” Sirius growled. “Popped out of nowhere while me and Harry were in the middle of talking, grabbing about—”

“What!?” Remus exclaimed. “How— who was it?”

“I don’t know— it was a _bloody invading hand_ , Moony, trying to snatch my face, I wasn’t exactly going to ask for an introduction—”

Remus swore, looking at the flames in front of him with sudden furious, panicked realization. “She’s watching the fire.”

“Who— Umbridge?” Sirius asked, understanding at once.

“Yes,” Remus moaned. “Of course. Of _course_ the Ministry’s given her access to Harry’s Floo calls…”

“Yeah, apparently she put out a decree banning student organizations this morning,” Sirius said dryly. “She must’ve had a spy in the Hog’s Head, too. Slippery little snake, isn’t she?”

“But she didn’t see you, did she?” Remus asked fearfully. “I mean— if it was just her hand—”

“I dunno, Moony,” Sirius snapped. “But I was _careful_ , alright!? The letter I sent was rubbish to anyone but Harry, the Common Room was empty— how was I supposed to know that the old hag was gonna slither in with the support of the whole Floo Network behind her!? So if you’re about to have a go at me, I swear—”

“I’m not— I’m not having a _go at you_!” Remus cried.

“—Because the one thing Dumbledore hasn’t banned me from is _contacting my godson_ , and I’m not about to let him try—”

“Sirius,” Remus interrupted forcefully, trying to swallow the fear that was creeping through his limbs. “I _know_.”

Sirius glared at him, and then swung his head back towards the fire, the flames reflecting mockingly in his eyes. Remus took a deep breath. Was this the inevitable outcome of Sirius’ excursion to Platform nine-and-three-quarters a month ago? No, Sirius had Floo’d Harry since then without any problems, or so he said. So perhaps it had taken the Ministry longer to connect the two incidents— or perhaps they had simply been waiting for the opportunity— either way, Sirius had just nearly been caught. By a member of the Ministry, no less. Umbridge was monitoring at the very least Harry’s Floo calls, if not every fire in the castle. Dumbledore… would have to be told. And Sirius…

“They can’t trace me here, anyways,” Sirius growled. “Not with the Fidelius Charm.”

“That’s true,” Remus said. “…But… that doesn’t mean she can’t listen to your conversations.” Sirius didn’t say a word: he still had not turned away from the fire, so Remus was forced to take a step closer, and as gently as he could, lay a cautious hand on Sirius’ shoulder. Sirius stiffened at the touch, and finally looked at him.

“So you want me to just… stop talking to him?” Sirius said bitterly. “Cut him off completely?”

“Of course I don’t _want_ that,” Remus sighed. “Just maybe— maybe give it some time, until we know more. This is about the safety of the _both_ of you— I assume that Umbridge’s decree won’t stop Harry from running his defense group, so he’s already in a precarious enough position without—”

“—Without being caught contacting an escaped mass murderer, I get it,” Sirius snarled.

“I’m sorry, Sirius,” Remus said heavily.

“No, you’re right, it’s the right thing to do,” Sirius snapped. “You’ll forgive me, I’m just not used to abandoning people.”

There was a long silence, in which Remus felt the blood drain from his face, and perhaps his whole body, because _all_ of his extremities suddenly felt cold, and his throat seemed to close, Sirius’ words constricting it like a clenched fist. His hand dropped from Sirius’ shoulder.

“I beg your pardon?” he asked, his voice shaking dangerously, as enormous waves of anger and guilt, equal in size, rose within him, and crashed together.

“You know, leaving people on the basis of ‘protecting them,’” Sirius said, as casually as if he were commenting on the weather. “I don’t think it’s as nearly as noble as you think it is.”

His tone was level— nonchalant, even, but it was if he had struck Remus across the face.

“You know nothing of my _thoughts_ ,” Remus said, tasting sand.

“Maybe that’s true,” Sirius replied. “You’ve changed a bit over the years, haven’t you? Look at you now— living full-time with me in the city, offering to become a foster parent…”

“I— _what_?” Remus exclaimed, bewilderment slightly overtaking his fury.

“Oh, you don’t remember, about a month ago, when Molly was in a state, going on about how she and Arthur could be killed?” Sirius said, with the air that he was catching Remus some sort of spectacular lie. “And you practically offered to adopt Ron and Ginny?”

“Offered to—?” Remus wracked his brains, trying to conjure up the exact moment: Molly’s tearful face in his shoulder, her greatest fears spilling from her lips onto the fabric of his robes. “Sirius, I simply assured Molly that they would _of course_ be cared for if something were to happen.”

“Okay, well if you wanna dive into the _semantics_ , Professor, you said _we_ would take care of them,” Sirius retorted. “Who is _we_ , Remus?”

“The— the Order,” Remus said, his face growing hot.

“Ah,” Sirius nodded. “The _Order_. Only… the whole Order doesn’t live here, do they? You and I do.” His own cheeks were scarlet now. “So you’ll forgive me for interpreting that _‘we’_ as you bloody volunteering to raise a pair of kids with me.”

“Sirius,” Remus exclaimed, completely exasperated, completely unaware of how they had ended up having this conversation. “I truly don’t understand _why_ you are bringing this up right now. It was all hypothetical— Molly and Arthur are both very much alive. And I fail to see what any of this has to do with Harry, or Umbridge—”

“Yes, well, Harry,” Sirius said quickly. “Ever think _hypothetically_ about him?”

Remus blinked. “…What… do you mean?”

“I was Harry’s godfather,” Sirius continued, as if Remus were too stupid to understand. “If I hadn’t been chucked into Azkaban, I’d have legally taken precedent over his shitey aunt. So he’d have gone to me, and I reckon— I reckon I’d need some help. Mad, innit— we could have raised him. Harry. Together.”

“I couldn’t have,” Remus said automatically, his heart hammering against his ribcage. “I’ve told you—”

“Well _I_ couldn’t have because Wormtail saw to it that I spent his whole childhood in _prison_ , but again, we’re speaking _hypothetically_ here!” Sirius said, his voice rising to near shout. “And I said _we_ — your word, Remus!” Remus was only vaguely aware that Kreacher was still watching them, with the disturbing air of being greatly entertained.

“Sirius,” Remus said desperately, because this whole thing was ridiculous, what was the point of revisiting a past that was already set in stone? “ _We_ weren’t even— we’d been— we were barely even speaking when James and Lily died,” he said, his voice shaking. “You thought I was the spy and I thought you were the spy. Even if we had learned it was Peter, I don’t think— I mean— we weren’t exactly in the right position to— to raise a _child_ together.”

“I think we could have,” Sirius said stubbornly. “It’s James and Lily’s son. We _would_ have.”

“You think that the wizarding community would have let the most famous baby in the world be raised by a werewolf?” Remus asked, his voice rising into a slightly hysterical laugh.

“Well, they seem perfectly fine letting him be raised by the world’s most awful Muggles!” Sirius retorted.

“James made _you_ his godfather, Sirius,” Remus reminded him through a tight voice. “Not me. Why do you think that is?”

Sirius’ face surpassed red: it was now purple, and when he yelled, the resemblance to his mother’s portrait was suddenly uncanny. “THAT WASN’T BECAUSE YOU’RE A WEREWOLF, YOU STUPID, SELF-PITYING PRAT!” He roared. “YOU KNOW JAMES BETTER THAN THAT! IT WAS BECAUSE HE _KNEW_ YOU WOULDN’T BE _COMFORTABLE_ WITH IT, HE KNEW YOU’D DECLINE! HE DIDN’T WANT TO BLOODY PUSH YOU, AND HE KNEW THAT THINGS WITH US WERE ALREADY FALLING APART—”

“Look,” Remus interrupted, his voice shaking. “This is ridiculous. We’ve _had_ iterations of this argument, a hundred times, a long time ago— why are you insisting on bringing it up again now? It’s not exactly relevant to our lives anymore!”

“IT IS FOR ME!” Sirius bellowed.

There was a long, breathless, charged silence.

“What do you mean?” Remus asked quietly.

“Well— we can have it _now_ , can’t we?” Sirius urged, his voiced rushed. “Harry, you, and me— I mean, the three of us— Harry wanted to stay _here_ , for _fuck’s_ sake, if he had gotten expelled— with _us_ —”

“—Yes, of course, but it’s not like—”

“I’m still in love with you.”

Remus’ heart stopped.

He had seen Sirius’ mouth move, he had heard the words he had said, and yet, his mind refused to comprehend it.

“What?” He asked, breathlessly.

“Always have been,” Sirius said bluntly. “Never stopped. It wasn’t exactly a happy thought, was it? So the dementors couldn’t take it away from me.”

Remus had lost the ability to speak.

“I wasn’t gonna say anything,” Sirius continued, and although his tone was still steady and one-note, his voice seemed to crack underneath it. “Didn’t wanna drive you away again, did I? But then— like, sometimes it seems like you might— but it doesn’t matter if— look—” he suddenly seemed quite flustered, which in itself was almost more shocking than what he was saying, what he had said. “Just— well, now you know.”

Remus’ tongue unstuck from the roof of his mouth. “Sirius…” he choked.

“No,” Sirius stopped him, waving him off. “I appreciate it Moony, but I really don’t need your pity or pragmatism or— self-righteousness— or ‘it’s not you it’s me’ or— whatever. Look, I— I’m not gonna force you into anything.” He took a deep breath and then cracked a tired smile, “Especially not this close to a full moon.” He cast his eyes heavily back towards the fire. “I’ve got to figure out another way to talk to Harry, anyways, if Floo’s really off the table.”

“I…” Remus did not know what to say. He did not know what to do. He had not expected this. He was mad at Sirius for distracting him from the near discovery in the fire— he was mad at him for twisting the narrative as if he was some sort of victim of Remus’ selfishness— he was flushed with guilt for wanting him, and more guilt for not telling him, but even _more_ guilt for _wanting_ to tell him despite the fact that he was far too afraid, far too afraid to face something like this head-on, when it was just the two of them— well, the two of them, and Kreacher—

“Can I _help_ you?” Sirius barked towards the elf, whom he had apparently just noticed.

“Kreacher was simply wondering what was with all the commotion,” Kreacher said innocently, and then, under his breath, raged, “Even the werewolf doesn’t want him, probably because he cares too much about that Potter boy, an obsession almost, and the boy cares for him, Kreacher wonders why…”

And as Sirius moved onto exchanging insults with Kreacher, Remus realized that the moment was over. And for probably the first time in his life, he was looking forward to the full moon: to curl up and sleep, to not have to think about Sirius’ confession, about Sirius’ sharp eyes and long black hair and barking laugh, about the battle raging in Remus’ body, his head fighting fiercely against his heart— because for the first time, in a _long_ time, his heart was fighting back. And that terrified him more than anything.


	23. Thirty-Six Years Old

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> it's sirius' birthday and im giving the gift of fluff and banter bc you all deserve it after the never-ending angst train to sadboi town

_November 3rd, 1995  
_ _12 Grimmauld Place, London, England_

Sirius woke up to the muffled sounds of voices downstairs.

Alone in bed, he stared at the ceiling, which had always been a favorite pastime of his, having been sent to his room quite often as a child, and even more often as a young teenager. There were cracks and scuffles and blotches that Sirius had never let Kreacher try to remove; a burn on the left corner, where twelve-year-old Sirius had tried to practice _Incendio_ as Regulus had fretted that he was breaking the law by using magic outside of school.

_“Relax, Reg,” Sirius had smirked. “So much magic in this house, the Ministry won’t be able to weed it out…”_

_“Well, what if I tell mother and father?”_

_“Will you?”_

_“…No.”_

There was a small hole from the time Sirius had thrown a bottle of butterbeer in fury at age fifteen. Another set of burns from when James had sent him a musical Howler at age fourteen. Dents from a set of magical darts that Peter had gotten him at age thirteen. And there was a patch of discoloration— something that had leaked from the attic long ago, Merlin could only guess…

The voices continued. It was with great effort that Sirius tore his eyes away from the ceiling and dragged himself from the covers: despite the warming charms on the house, a chill always seemed to creep through the floorboards. Winter was not long off.

He dressed himself in a pair of thick, gray robes, and made his way down into the kitchen, hoping that one of the people who had barged into his house had thought to bring breakfast. He pushed open the door to find Tonks, Moody, Bill, Hestia, and Remus in heated conversation.

“Morning, all,” Sirius grunted, taking note of the distinct _lack_ of breakfast, and crossed the room to help himself to the kettle over the fire. “Getting an early start on fighting Voldemort today, I see.”

“Hagrid’s returned,” Bill informed him. “Arrived at Hogwarts last night.” Sirius turned around, kettle in hand, eyebrows high. So he was finally back from the giants, a month and a half later than he should have been.

“Blimey,” Sirius exclaimed. “He say what took him so long?”

“Dumbledore didn’t mention any details,” Bill frowned. “Just that he was perfectly fine, and he’d start teaching again right away.”

“Classic,” Sirius said appreciatively, pouring tea into one of his parents’ stupid gold-rimmed mugs. “I hope he brought back an Erumpent and Dolores Umbridge gets a _bit_ too close…”

“Well, I hope Dumbledore’s questioning him with everything he’s got,” Moody growled as Tonks laughed at Sirius’ comment. “He was mucking about with Death Eaters, who’s to say he wasn’t captured and tortured for information— he could be under the Imperius Curse right now, spying on Hogwarts!”

“Dumbledore knows Hagrid better than anyone,” Remus said firmly. “He would know if something was wrong.”

“A gorgeous sentiment,” Moody growled sarcastically, rolling his eyes. “If only someone knew Podmore that well, eh? People are too trusting these days, it’s gonna get us all killed—”

“Well, good thing we’ve got you around to make sure we maintain a healthy suspicion of our friends, then,” Tonks said brightly, as Bill grinned.

“You joke,” Moody warned. “But it’s only a matter of time before Malfoy tries something again. Constant vigilance!”

“We’ll just have to hope that Severus learns of such endeavors before Lucius manages to enact them,” Remus sighed. Sirius snorted.

“Talk about too trusting,” he scoffed, thinking of Snape’s hateful, glittering eyes. Moody raised his hip flask in apparent agreement, and downed it in a gulp.

“It’s barely eight, Mad-Eye,” Tonks pointed out, amused.

“It’s pumpkin juice,” he retorted. Sirius genuinely couldn’t tell if he was lying or not, but it did make him briefly consider dropping a shot of firewhiskey in with his Earl Gray.

Bill and Hestia left soon afterwards, followed by Moody and finally Tonks. She closed the door just as Sirius finished his tea, and as he cleaned it with his wand and sent it back to the cupboard, Remus very softly cleared his throat. Sirius looked over at him.

“Happy thirty-sixth,” Remus said quietly, and, mouth twitching, drew a cupcake from his robes and slid it across the table. It slowed to a stop, and the one candle in the middle lit itself aflame.

“What, no song?” Sirius asked mockingly.

“I would have thought Stubby Boardman, lead singer of The Hobgoblins, would be able to take care of that himself,” Remus said dryly.

“Don’t tempt me,” Sirius warned, grinning, and he walked over to the table, leaned over, and blew the candle out. He was with strange twinge that he realized this was the first birthday he’d had at Grimmauld Place since age eleven: he remembered the giant cake, eleven candles for eleven years of life, plus one for good luck. It had been a large, celebratory affair— he remembered that Bellatrix had been in attendance, having graduated Hogwarts already, and has had gone on and on about his impending semester at Hogwarts, still over a half a year away. He’d been so bored by the whole affair— he’d wished Andromeda had been able to come, or even Narcissa.

The _last_ birthday he’d been aware of was waking up to the sounds of screams after his first official night in Azkaban. Since then, the passing years stopped being cause for celebration. But here he was now, with a cupcake in his hand, acutely aware that due to Remus’ heightened Order duties in the past month, this was the first time they’d _really_ been alone since Sirius had told him he was still in love with him.

“What’re you still doing here, by the way?” Sirius asked.

“What do you mean?” Remus replied quickly.

“No, just— you’ve been quite busy lately. I thought you’d have guard duty or something,” Sirius said, unwrapping the cupcake and taking an enormous bite. There was a ball of never-melting ice cream on the inside— Sirius’ favorite when he was a kid. Of course Remus had remembered.

“Oh. I told Dumbledore I needed the day off,” Remus explained quietly, watching as Sirius licked sprinkles off his chin. “Four days until the full moon, after all…”

“ _Four_ days?” Sirius repeated, amused. “This coming from the prat who regularly does the night before? Come off it, you think he bought that?” 

“Well, to be quite honest, I don’t think he did,” Lupin said, smiling. “But I will be feeling miraculously better tomorrow, I think, so I just switched shifts with Tonks."

“How generous of her,” Sirius mused. “Plenty of gifts to go around, I see.” And he raised the rest of the cupcake in cheers before polishing it off, licking the last traces of frosting off of his fingers, one by one, Remus’ eyes following his movements. “So,” Sirius continued, after swallowing loudly. “Now that we have all this free time together... what d’ya wanna do?”

Remus grew a bit pink. “It’s _your_ birthday. I’ll do whatever you’d like.”

“Well,” Sirius said, stretching his arms dramatically above his head. “It would be quite nice to do a lil’ something to get our blood pumping, don’t you think?”

And that is how they found themselves facing each other on either side of the dining room, wands out, ready to duel.

The table had been shrunk and pushed up against the wall, the piano transfigured into a flowerpot. There was nothing but empty space between them— Sirius whipped out his wand, and bowed low and dramatic, his nose nearly sweeping the floor, never breaking eye contact. Remus rolled his eyes, and gave a very small, professional bow back.

“Come on, Moony!” Sirius laughed. “One might think you’re not giving this your all.”

“ _One_ might remember that winning a duel is about focus and precision, not spectacle,” Remus retorted, a smirk spreading across his face as he widened his stance.

“Oh, please,” Sirius grinned back with devilish delight. “ _Everything’s_ about spectacle.” And he thrust his wand forward, crying, “ _Digitos spongium_!” Remus jumped, narrowly missing the bright yellow jet of light that Sirius had sent across the room. He looked up indignantly.

“You’re starting off with the sponge-fingers hex!?” He exclaimed.

“What did you expect, a gentle disarming!?” Sirius laughed, bouncing on the balls of his feet in utter delight. “Come on, you gotta be a bit more crea—”

“— _Tarantallegra_!” Remus yelled, and Sirius felt his legs instantly begin to tap-dance at their own accord. He looked down, grinning ear to ear, elation rising in him as his feet scattered patterns across the dusty floor.

“That’s more like it!” He cackled. “But we can’t all be this coordinated, can we?” And he faked his wand to the left before pointing it to the right and bellowing, “ _Locomotor wibbly_!” The jelly-legs jinx just brushed Remus’ hip, and he wobbled to the floor on his knees. “You like that?” Sirius crooned, as he lifted the dancing curse from his own legs. “I call that one James v. Snivellus, 1972!”

“Juvenile,” Remus sniffed, picking himself up. “Let’s age it up a bit.”

“Oh?” Sirius sang, his heart starting to speed up. “My, my, what ever does _that_ mean?”

“ _Anteoculatia!_ ” Remus said, and a white beam of light caused Sirius to immediately feel two long, heavy… things… growing from his skull, weighing his head down—

“Oh, that’s low!” Sirius cried, as he felt up the handsome pair of antlers that were now sitting proudly atop his hair.

“I call _that_ one James v. _Sirius_ , 1976,” Remus said calmly, admiring his handiwork. “And 1977, and 1978…”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Sirius barked. “I’m keeping ‘em. This is for you, Prongs— _Melofors_!” And Remus ducked, expertly avoiding the jinx that would have encased a pumpkin around his head.

“ _Balbuttium ineptias_!” Remus retaliated, and Sirius dropped into what he thought was quite the impressive backbend, the spell sailing over him as he nearly crashed into the flowerpot that was really a piano.

“Oi, too easy!” Sirius jeered, still in his backbend, grinning upside-down with both hands and feet on the floor, “Don’t hold back just because it’s my birthday!”

But he instantly regretted that one, because Remus immediately cast _Calvorio_ , and Sirius felt all of his hair fall out. Horrified, he jumped to his feet, wand out, and faced Remus— who took one look at him, and burst into laughter.

The sound hit him with the force of a stunning spell. Remus was laughing— probably because Sirius was standing there furiously, completely bald, _with_ antlers— and even though it was at his expense, it was probably one of Sirius’ favorite things in the world. It was like for one moment, his years of self hatred melted away, his pale cheeks flushed with color, bright red against the pale scars. His eyes scrunched up, sparkling, joyful. Sirius’ heart seemed to lurch with longing.

“Are you quite done?” He demanded, with as much mock-annoyance as he could muster.

“No, actually, one more thing,” Remus said, pulling himself together. “ _Accio_ _camera_!”

“Oh, son of a—”

“Smile.”

“Only if you promise to submit this as my updated mugshot.”

“I’ll talk to Kingsley.”

So Sirius posed, and thought himself quite chivalrous to wait for Remus to put down the camera before shooting him with a tickling charm.

“Since you like laughing so much all of a sudden,” Sirius explained airly, as Remus doubled over, clutching his sides.

And it went like that, back and forth and back and forth, and despite the fact that Sirius grew scales and got stuck to the ceiling and started speaking in limericks, it was the happiest he had been in ages. The adrenaline coursed through him like his own lifeblood, and he was pretty sure he broke into barking, rather manic laughter more than once, whenever one of his spells hit its mark. It was only when Sirius found himself stuck in the chandelier, unable to move, that Remus finally disarmed him, smirking upwards as he caught the wand that was once his own.

“Alright then,” Sirius relented, grinning down at him. “You gonna help me out here, or…?”

Remus waved both wands in tandem, and Sirius felt his body disentangle from the candles, and start to float softly down to the floor.

“You know,” Remus said innocently, his eyes following Sirius’ progress down to standing. “Maybe if you had spent less time on clever banter you’d have gotten more than a few shots in.”

“Oh ho ho!” Sirius exclaimed, exhilarated, settling to the ground. “Cocky, aren’t we? You may have won the duel, but I won the greatest battle of all.”

“And what battle is that?” Remus asked, lips twitching as he offered Sirius back his wand.

“Why, the battle of _wits,_ Moony!” Sirius cooed, and he swiped the wand from his hand, showering them both with red sparks.

“Ah yes, how will I move on from this crushing defeat?” Remus said, raising his eyebrows sarcastically.

“Dazzle me,” Sirius answered, and pure happiness bubbled within him as he cried, “ _Expecto Patronum_!” An enormous, silver dog erupted from the point of his wand: it paused, looking every which way for danger: when it found none, it wagged its tail vigorously as it jumped around them, tongue lolling out. Remus watched it jump, and then, after a moment, murmured the incantation under his breath. A fine silver mist floated around them.

“Come on, Moony,” Sirius persisted. “It’s my birthday.”

Remus looked at him, let out a sigh, and gave his wand a little flourish: the mist solidified into a wolf, who stared at them both with strong, unwavering eyes.

“It’s beautiful,” Sirius quietly, and his heart seemed to ache. They watched as the two animals chased each other around the room like old friends, nipping back and forth until they finally dissapated, whispering away into the dusty air. They left behind them a soft, nostalgic silence.

“I suppose I wasn’t entirely right, was I?” Remus finally murmured. Sirius glanced over: he was still looking at the spot where the wolf had been moments before.

“You’ll have to be more specific, Moony, you’re wrong about a lot of things,” Sirius said cheerfully.

“Memories,” Remus said softly, not rising to the bait. “They are always relevant.”

“Well… we had some good ones, didn’t we?” Sirius replied, watching him carefully. “Y’know, wedged in between all the fighting, torture, death, and imprisonment.”

“We did,” Remus agreed. He waved his wand at the dining room table: it returned to its normal size, and he sat, perched on the edge. “Do you remember the rumor that went around sixth year, that your Patronus was the Grim?”

“Yeah,” Sirius grinned, joining him. “I started it. Poor little Slytherin firstie made eye contact with me in the dining hall afterwards and fainted. Now _that’s_ a happy memory.”

Remus shook his head in exasperation. “He ended up in the hospital wing on the bed next to mine. Madam Pomphrey had to give him a potion for nerves.”

“Didn’t he faint again when I stopped by to give you a visit?”

“Yes.”

“Brilliant.”

“Madame Pomphrey despised you,” Remus chuckled. 

“Untrue!” Sirius cried indignantly. “She _loved_ me. They all loved me, deep down. Well, except Pince.”

“That’s true,” Remus snorted. “You used to make me return your library books for you.”

Sirius barked a laugh. “Yeah, because you spent all your time there, anyways,” he reminded him. “And James and I were banned for like a month in early seventh…”

“Didn’t stop you from sneaking in, you nearly got me banned as well.”

“Who brought in a giant’s sized flask of hot tea?”

“Well, it was _your_ fault it spilled.”

“Snogging is a two-person activity, Moony,” Sirius said cheekily, automatically, not thinking. There was an abrupt pause, in which Sirius cursed himself for potentially smashing down Remus’ comfort zone again, but also decided that if this started a row, it was Remus’ fault, because after all, they could move forward all he wanted, but it was _Remus_ who had brought up the sodding idea of memories in the first place.

But although Remus’ cheeks went slightly pink, he did not change the subject, or fall silent, or excuse himself. He simply cleared his throat and said, “Wish I’d known sooner, I would’ve mentioned that to James when I caught him practicing in the mirror.”

“You didn’t,” Sirius said, relief, surprise, and laughter bubbling within him all at once.

“Third year,” Remus confirmed. 

“ _Third year_. Oh, _Merlin_ , I cannot believe you kept that from me.”

“I really didn’t want to relive it again, to be quite honest,” Remus said, smiling.

“James’ first love,” Sirius laughed affectionately. “Himself.”

“Mmm,” Remus sighed sarcastically. “If only the rest of us could have been so lucky.”

“There’s a mirror upstairs if you’d like to take your chances,” Sirius offered.

“I’ll keep that in mind,”Remus said dryly. And then, he hesitated, and turned on the edge of the table so he was facing in Sirius’ direction. His expression had shifted in those mere seconds: the sarcastic smile had dropped, and his face was slightly pinker. He cleared his throat. “Sirius, by the way, I’ve been meaning to say,” he said quietly. “I hope it hasn’t come across that I didn’t—” he paused, and took a deep breath, and continued, “…That I wanted to forget about… our relationship. When we were younger. You understand why we had to end it then, it wasn’t because I wanted to, I— you know that now, right?”

“Oh,” Sirius said, quite dumbstruck. “Er…”

“I know I’ve avoided the topic,” Remus rushed. “But it’s only because—” he stopped himself, looking like he was grasping for the right words, but he just ended saying, “…I’m sorry.”

Sirius stared at him for a long time. So they were talking about it. Alright then; he might as well lay it all out on the table. Sirius had already dropped the bloody unrequited love confession: there wasn’t much more he could say that could go farther than that. “D’you wanna know something funny?” He said, and he shook his head at the absurdity of it all. “You’re the only person I’ve ever been with.”

“What?” Remus asked, looking so genuinely shocked that Sirius felt rather flattered.

“Yeah,” Sirius shrugged. “Not a lot of intimacy in Azkaban, was there? And hookups on the lam were pretty slim on the ground.”

Remus blinked. His cheeks were pink again. “We were broken up for over a year before James and Lily died— I thought, surely—”

“Oh, I tried,” Sirius snorted. “Tried a lot. But I just… couldn’t do it. Couldn’t even _snog_ anyone else. And there were some attractive blokes making moves, mind you. But I couldn’t.” He side-eyed Remus and gave him a sad sort of smirk. “I imagine you’ve been doing alright the past _decade_ or so, though—”

“Only twice,” Remus said.

“What?”

“Only twice,” Remus repeated. “A witch. She was— is— a werewolf, too. And a Muggle—whom I met at the library.”

Sirius decided to spare him the grief of being teased for meeting someone at the bloody library to focus on the far more interesting piece of information. “You shagged a _werewolf_?”

“Yes.”

“Was it _hot_?”

“Sirius.”

“Sorry, sorry— but only once?”

“Yes.”

“Why?” Sirius asked. Remus threw him a sharp look.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, why not more?” Sirius clarified. “Why just the one time?”

Remus smiled quite sadly. “I didn’t want to actually start anything— we both knew how it’d end. Most of my kind have never had anything like you and— I mean, at least, not after they’ve turned.”

Sirius looked at him for a long time: his deep hazel eyes, his graying brown hair, the pale white scars crisscrossing his face, not quite hiding the light wrinkles that had already begun to form. All cards on the table, Sirius reminded himself. “Can I tell you something?” He asked, after a silence.

Remus looked up warily, but nodded.

“You aren’t the only one who’s ever suffered, you know. And I’m not saying that to diminish your lycanthropy, really— I’m just saying that everyone has shite they bring with them to a relationship.” He laughed. “Like, remember how worried you were about dragging down my _reputation_ or whatever? Well look at me now— my reputation can’t get much lower than this! And you had nothing to do with it. And look at Harry: he knows a bit what it’s like to have the world against him, doesn’t he?”

“…I suppose so,” Remus murmured.

“Look, Moony,” Sirius sighed. “Sometimes, you seem so focused on the bad things that _could_ happen in the future that you overlook the good things that _are_ happening in the present. Dunno— I know you have this _need_ to plan everything out, but maybe sometimes you gotta seize the good when it’s there and say fuck it, y’know? Instead of finishing something before it’s even started.”

He waited for Remus to shut down, tense up, or do one of his classic weary sighs, but he simply looked at him with a strange expression, one that Sirius couldn’t quite place. He wore that expression for the rest of the day— Sirius supposed he’d have to wait to find out what it meant.


	24. We’re Fighting for our Lives, so Let’s Live Them

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur Weasley is attacked. / Harry thinks too much. / Remus stops thinking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some dialogue is quoted from OotP Chapter 22 to maintain canon consistency.

_December 18th- 19th, 1995  
_ _12 Grimmauld Place, London, England_

It was very late at night, and Sirius found himself halfway through a second bottle of firewhiskey when Kreacher entered the kitchen.

He stalked across the floor, illuminated by the fire and the one weak candle that Sirius had lit to accompany his rather meager dinner. Sirius looked up from the dancing flame with his eyebrows raised as the elf stopped in front of him and sank into a stilted bow— they’d had a rather unpleasant day together, what with Sirius burning a box of Regulus’ old letters to their parents that he’d found in the attic, so he was surprised that Kreacher was approaching him at all, instead of going off somewhere to plan his murder.

“What?” Sirius demanded suspiciously.

“Master Phineas Nigellus requests the immediate presence of his great-great-grandson up in the third-floor bedroom,” Kreacher muttered.

“What is it?” Sirius frowned, sitting up straight, putting down the bottle. “A message from Dumbledore?”

“Kreacher is simply relaying the request,” Kreacher snarled. “Kreacher does not need to discuss anything more with the ungrateful blood traitor who lusts after werewolves, shamed his family, and broke my poor Mistress’ heart…”

“Get out of my way, then,” Sirius barked, and got up from the chair, leaving his dinner behind and stumping angrily up the stairs. He made his way into the bedroom that Harry and Ron had once occupied, and approached the portrait— usually blissfully empty, it now contained the smug figure of Phineas Nigellus, who was staring at his fingertips in a rather bored fashion.

“Well?” Sirius urged him, annoyed.

“Oh,” Phineas drawled. “You’re here.”

“Always am,” Sirius said dryly, his annoyance getting the best of him. “What’s going on?”

“ _Testy_ tonight aren’t we?” Phineas sighed, rolling his eyes. “Dumbledore wishes me to inform you that Arthur Weasley has been gravely injured and that his wife, children, and Harry Potter will be coming to stay.”

“Harry is— Arthur was— _what_? How?” Sirius demanded, his stomach clenching a bit. Arthur had been on duty tonight, hadn’t he…? Phineas waved his hand, as if it didn’t matter.

“Details, details,” he sighed. “I just need to know if you really wish to allow these brats back into our sacred home…”

“I’d be _delighted_ to have them,” Sirius snapped, and Phineas shrugged and departed his portrait before Sirius could get in another word. Pulse racing, and turning on his heel, Sirius rushed back downstairs, nearly trampling Kreacher underfoot as he entered the kitchen, and five figures spun out of midair and tumbled onto the stone floor.

“Back again, the blood traitor brats,” Kreacher snarled at the figures, who were climbing shakily to their feet. “Is it true their father’s dying…?”

“OUT!” Sirius bellowed to the elf, and Kreacher shot him a look of indignant fury, before slinking towards the staircase, as Sirius hurried to the four Weasleys and his godson, all clad in their pajamas. Ginny was still on the floor, looking pale— Sirius reached a hand down to help her up and glanced at Fred, who was already standing, his arms crossed, his face gray.

“What’s going on?” Sirius asked the group at large, as Ginny accepted his hand and pulled herself unsteadily to her feet. “Phineas Nigellus said Arthur’s been badly injured—”

“Ask Harry,” Fred said, his voice high.

“Yeah,” George echoed. “I want to hear this for myself.” The Weasleys all turned to look at Harry, and Sirius followed suit, his stomach clenching again.

He looked awful.

If the Weasleys looked scared, it was nothing to the expression on Harry’s face. He was covered in a thick layer of sweat, his hair plastered to his forehead; his face was slightly green, save for the dark purple circles underneath his eyes. He looked almost unhinged.

“It was— I had a— a kind of— vision…” he stammered desperately. “I erm— I was dreaming, at first, something totally stupid, but then it got sort of, y’know, interrupted by— I was—” he swallowed suddenly, glanced at Ron, and then plunged on, “There was a snake, and it was— well— slithering along this corridor, everything was dark. And your dad—” he looked sideways at the twins and Ginny— “he was lying there, asleep, but then he— he woke up, and he went to— he pulled out his wand, I think he was going to try and attack it…”

Sirius felt his stomach turn over. He could almost guess what had happened next…

“…But before he could get a chance, I— the, er— the snake bit him. It was bad, it was really bad, there was blood everywhere, and he sort of fell, and I— and then I woke up.”

Fred, George, and Ginny were staring at Harry blankly— he looked away, almost… guiltily? None of them realized, of course, the circumstances of what had happened: Arthur had been in the Department of Mysteries, and somebody, probably Voldemort, had sent a snake in— but what for? It wasn’t like a snake could retrieve the prophecy, so it was probably sent for the very purpose of killing any member of the Order standing guard… and Harry had witnessed it. That must have been why Dumbledore had sent them from the school— if the Ministry found out that Harry was having nightmares about true events— if they realized the circumstances of Arthur being there in the first place—

“Is Mum here?” Fred asked suddenly, turning to face Sirius.

“She probably doesn’t even know what’s happened yet,” Sirius answered, and with a dull pang, he imagined Molly, fast asleep in her bed, none the wiser. “The important thing was to get you away before Umbridge could interfere,”he plunged on. “I expect Dumbledore’s letting Molly know now.”

“We’ve got to go to St. Mungo’s,” Ginny said immediately. Her face was still pale, but her eyes were glittering fiercely, with sudden determination. “Sirius, can you lend us cloaks or anything—?”

“Hang on!” Sirius interrupted, raising his hand up to stop her. “You can’t go tearing off to St. Mungo’s!”

“’Course we can go to St. Mungo’s if we want, he’s our dad!” Fred cried indignantly.

“And how are you going to explain how you knew Arthur was attacked before the hospital even let his wife know?” Sirius demanded, turning towards the twins.

“What does that matter?” George snapped.

“It _matters_ because we don’t want to draw attention to the fact that Harry is having visions of things that are happening hundreds of miles away!” Sirius exclaimed, frustrated that they couldn’t understand this glaringly obvious fact. “Have you any idea what the Ministry would make of that information?”

“Somebody else could have told us,” Ginny said hesitantly, her eyebrows drawn together. “We could have heard it somewhere other than Harry…”

“Like who?” Sirius nearly laughed. “Listen, your dad’s been hurt while on duty for the Order”— Fred and George’s eyes flashed— “…And the circumstances are fishy enough without his children knowing about it seconds after it happened, you could seriously damage the Order’s—”

“We don’t care about the dumb Order!” Fred roared, cutting him off, his cheeks pink with fury.

“It’s our _dad_ dying we’re talking about!” George echoed, his voice shaking slightly on the word ‘dying.’ Sirius fought the urge to yell back. Perhaps Molly was right, perhaps they _were_ too young to comprehend the meaning of war: some things were more important than others, and seeing their dad covered in blood wouldn’t help anyone, all it would do was put Harry at risk for further scrutiny from the Ministry, and Harry already looked like he was seconds away from passing out.

“Your father knew what he was getting into, and he won’t thank you for messing things up for the Order!” Sirius barked at them. “This is how it is— this is why you’re not in the Order— you don’t understand—” He thought of James and Lily perishing in Godric’s Hollow, he thought of Dumbledore telling them the prophecy must be protected at all costs, all to protect his godson, Harry, Harry who was standing there, dripping sweat, eyes hollow with dread. “…There are things _worth dying for_!”

“Easy for you to say, stuck here! I don’t see you risking your neck!” Fred shouted.

It was as if he had slapped him across the face. It was one thing to have Snape make snide comments at every other meeting, but having a white-faced, seventeen-year-old Fred Weasley scream it to his face hit him in an entirely different way.

“I know it’s hard,” he said, forcing Remus’ signature calmness into his voice, holding back the rage that had erupted within him. “But we’ve all got to act as though we don’t know anything yet.” He looked forcefully at each of the Weasley kids in turn: Ron, blank-faced; Ginny, unsure; Fred and George, livid. “We’ve got to stay put, at least until we hear from your mother, all right?”

After a long, tense silence, Ginny was the first to sit down, dropping into an armchair with the weariness of someone who had lived a thousand lives. Ron followed, his face still slack, completely void of emotion; Harry sat down automatically with him, as if looking to him for guidance on what to do, on how to act. The twins maintained their glares at Sirius, and he wondered briefly if he was going to have to hex them, but finally, they sat down too. Sirius summoned butterbeers from the pantry: everyone took one without speaking.

An hour passed in absolute silence. It was broken only by a burst of fire above the table and a message from Fawkes in Molly’s handwriting, alerting them that she was going to St. Mungo’s and Arthur was… ‘still alive.’ If Molly had intended this news to be a source of comfort, it had not done its job— everyone looked, if anything, worse.

Two more hours passed.

“What time is it?” Ron asked hoarsely. He apparently had forgotten he was wearing a watch: or maybe he hadn’t, maybe he just wanted to say something out loud, to say anything.

“Nearly three,” Sirius answered, glancing at the tiny clock, ticking away on the mantel. He looked around: Fred seemed exhausted, and Ginny looked like she was somewhere far away, her eyes open, not blinking. “You know, you’re all welcome to your old bedrooms if… you’d like to get some sleep…” Sirius said, because it seemed like the responsible thing to suggest. However, each of the Weasleys looked at him with such angry disbelief that he didn’t press the matter any further.

Another hour passed.

“Mum’s been at St. Mungos for ages by now,” George muttered after a while, fidgeting in his seat. “Why hasn’t she…?”

“I think we should assume no news is good news,” Sirius assured him. “She would tell you right away if anything were to go wrong.”

George bit his lip and then looked over at his twin: Fred was somewhere between wake and sleep, but they still managed to communicate with each other, something, unspoken. Ginny curled up tighter in her chair, and Sirius thought again of Molly sobbing in the drawing-room, head buried in Remus’ shoulder, fretting over what would happen to her children if she and Arthur were to die. He looked towards his godson: Harry was holding his half-full bottle in a slack, shaky hand, his eyes resting on Ron, and then Ginny, and then they finally met Sirius’ own, filled with a dreadful sort of guilt.

It was past five o'clock in the morning when the kitchen door burst open.

Everyone in the room seemed to turn as one. Molly Weasley was standing in the door frame. Her face was white, her eyes red, but upon seeing them, her face broke, miraculously, impossibly, into a weary, but oh-so _brave_ smile.

“He’s going to be alright,” she announced, exhausted. “He’s sleeping. We can all go and see him later. Bill’s sitting with him now, he’s going to take the morning off work.”

The tension, so thick and brutal, seemed to melt like butter.

A collective exhale resounded throughout the room. As George and Ginny went to hug Molly, as Fred threw himself into his chair in relief, as Ron laughed in disbelief and thankfulness, Sirius felt a joy rise within him too— it came so suddenly, like a wave crashing upon him, and he looked at Molly, and couldn’t help but feel a sudden outpouring of affection for her.

“Breakfast!” He announced, his voice coming out quite louder than he had expected it to, and he looked around for Kreacher, who surprisingly hadn’t slinked back into the kitchen. “Where’s that accursed house-elf?” He sighed. “Kreacher! KREACHER!” But Kreacher did not answer— he was probably off somewhere, mourning the fact that Arthur Weasley had survived. “Oh, forget it, then.” He looked at the family in front of them, all bright-eyed and flush-faced— Fred was still in the chair, and seemed to be hastily wiping his eyes, Ginny was disentangling herselffrom her mother, grinning. He felt an unusual amount of fondness for everyone in the room, and after doing a quick headcount, began to prepare breakfast.

He waved his wand towards the cupboard, and as a loaf of bread soared out, Harry hurried to the dresser, and picked up a large stack of plates. He was the only one of the bunch who still looked rather ill— perhaps Molly noticed, too, because she walked over, took the plates right out of his hands, and wrapped him into a hug. She was murmuring something to him as they embraced, and Harry’s face seemed to fall even more: he looked like he was going to be sick. But before Sirius could think too much about this, Molly let him go and turned to Sirius himself. She was looking at him like she never had before: with gratitude, and joy, and Sirius suddenly found himself understanding why Remus was so fond of her.

“Sirius,” she beamed. “I cannot thank you _enough_ for looking after them all night— for keeping them here, safe—”

Sirius held up a hand to stop her. “No thanks necessary,” he said, very sincerely. “Trust me, I was quite pleased to help in any way that I could.” He hesitated, and glanced around the room, so much louder and brighter than it had been in months, alive with the energy only teenagers could bring. Then he looked back at Molly, her tired eyes, her slightly messy hair. “Listen,” he continued quickly. “I hope you know— you’re quite welcome to stay here as long as Arthur’s in the hospital. All of you.”

She seemed to sag in relief. “Oh, Sirius,” she cried. “I’m so grateful… They think he’ll be there a little while and it would be wonderful to be nearer…” She bit her lip and continued, “Of course, that might mean we’re here for Christmas…”

“The more the merrier!” Sirius exclaimed, who was so full of utter joy at the idea of spending Christmas with his godson in a house full of people that he could hardly contain himself. Molly looked at him, face blazing with gratitude, and, smiling hugely, she grabbed an apron and began to take over cutting the loaf of bread. Sirius was laying bacon on a frying pan when suddenly, Harry seemed to materialize at his side.

“Sirius, can I have a quick word?” he murmured, a little desperately. “Er— now?” He looked a bit unhinged— frowning, Sirius followed him to the pantry: it was clear that Harry did not want to be overheard by any of the Weasleys. His godson closed the small door behind them: they were left alone in the dim light.

“What’s going o—”

“—I was the snake,” Harry rushed out, the words tumbling over each other. “It was me, I did it.”

“What?” Sirius asked blankly.

“My vision,” Harry explained, his voice high and metallic. “The way it really happened. It started and it— it was from my point of view, I was the one slithering down the corridor, it was me, sliding through bars and past all of these colorful objects, I didn’t just see Mr. Weasley, I— I could taste him, his scent, in the air, with my— with my _tongue_ — I saw him in front of a door at the end of a corridor— _I_ wanted to bite him, but I wasn’t going to until he woke up— and then he did, and he pointed his wand at me, and—” his breath hitched “— _I_ bit him, I bit him three times, and I— Sirius I— I tasted his _blood_ , I felt his— his _bones_ crack between _my_ fangs— I’m the one who did it, it was me, in the vision. I didn’t just see it happen— I did it.”

Sirius looked at him very carefully: the dark circles under his eyes were extremely pronounced, and he was breathing quite hard, as if he had just run a great distance. Sirius’ mind drifted back to several things: Dumbledore in meetings, fretting about the state of Harry’s emotions, talking about the vulnerability of the mind… Harry crying out, shouting in his sleep, and Ron saying that it happened nearly every night…

“Did you tell Dumbledore this?” Sirius asked.

“Yes, but he didn’t tell me what it meant,” Harry protested. He paused, and then added, somewhat bitterly, “Well, he doesn’t tell me anything anymore…”

Sirius could definitely, without a doubt, relate to that particular sentiment. But there was the matter that despite Dumbledore’s frustrating tendency to keep things to himself, this was, after all… a dream. Hadn’t Harry had dreams about Voldemort and Death Eater activity before? Sirius himself had had some pretty awful dreams during his time in Azkaban: dreams in which _he_ had gotten a dark mark tattoo, dreams that _he_ had been the one to strike James and Lily down. So what that Harry had dreamed he was a snake? If Dumbledore had found that concerning, he surely would have questioned Harry further, especially considering how often he’d been having him followed…

“I’m sure he would have told you if it was anything to worry about,” Sirius said carefully.

“But that’s not all,” Harry rushed on, in a strangled whisper. He looked up imploringly, a bit unhinged. “Sirius, I… I think I’m going mad…” he swallowed nervously. “Back in Dumbledore’s office, just before we took the Portkey… for a couple of seconds there I thought I was a snake, I felt like one— my scar really hurt when I was looking at Dumbledore—” he paused and then said hoarsely, “Sirius, I wanted to attack him—”

“It must have been the aftermath of the vision,” Sirius assured him. This he was nearly positive of: there was no way Harry would want to actually hurt Dumbledore: he seemed to worship him in almost a Remus-like manner. “That’s all. You were still thinking of the dream or whatever it was and—”

“It wasn’t that,” Harry maintained stubbornly. “It was like something rose up inside me, like there’s a _snake inside me_ —”

“You need to sleep,” Sirius cut him off forcefully. “You’re going to have breakfast and then go upstairs to bed, and then you can go and see Arthur after lunch with the others.” Harry did not budge: he was radiating exhausted anxiety— Sirius sighed, and took a step closer to him. If there was one thing he was sure of, it was that Harry did not have the capability to turn into a snake. “You’re in shock, Harry,” he said. “You’re blaming yourself for something you only witnessed, and it’s lucky you did witness it or Arthur might have died.” He brought his hand to his godson’s shoulder, and looked him in the eyes as gently as he could. “Just stop worrying.”

— -

As it turned out, though, Harry wasn’t the only one worrying.

After Sirius emerged from the pantry, he caught Molly looking his way, and as they cleaned up breakfast and the kids headed to bed, she turned to him, her eyebrows knitting together.

“Is Harry alright?” she whispered.

“He’s fine,” Sirius responded, cleaning a large pitcher with a wave of his wand. “Just shaken.”

“I spoke to Dumbledore this morning,” she said. “Before I got here and, well… he seemed quite shaken himself.”

“About Arthur?”

“No— well, yes, of course, but,” she sighed heavily. “About Harry.”

Sirius frowned, and lowered his wand. “Well that’s superb,” he said sarcastically. “Because I spent ten minutes before breakfast convincing him that there was nothing to worry about. Wish Dumbledore’d keep me in the loop once or twice.”

“He was only speculating,” Molly said sincerely. “More to himself than to me, and I wasn’t exactly in the right state to pay much attention.” She drew in a shaky breath. “But, You-Know-Who does have a snake…”

“He had a nightmare,” Sirius said firmly. “He’s had nightmares about Voldemort for years, hasn’t he? Why is this one any different?”

Molly looked anxiously down the goblet that she was washing by hand. “We didn’t really discuss it in length,” she said it a low voice. “But Dumbledore seems to think their connection is— getting stronger—” she swallowed thickly. “It isn’t fair, he’s been through so much— and he saved Arthur’s life— he saved him— he—”she seemed unable to speak further.

“Molly,” Sirius said, taking the goblet from her hand. “Go to bed, yeah? I’ll finish these up myself.”

She looked at him, hesitated, but seemed much too tired to argue. She gave in. “Very well,” she sighed, smiling weakly. “You’re right… thank you. Really, Sirius— thank you.”

Sirius fell asleep on the armchair near the fire some twenty minutes later, still in a good mood despite the conversation, and woke up before the Weasleys to fix them some lunch before they traipsed off to St. Mungo’s. Everyone was in high spirits: even Molly was laughing at Fred and George’s jokes along with Ron and Ginny. Only Harry seemed to be in a non-celebratory mood: he forced a smile every time Ron engaged him in conversation, or Molly beamed at him, but when they looked away, his face would fall again, riddled with exhaustion. He was still recovering from it all. He was clearly, at the moment, seeing himself in a Remus-like way: the perpetrator of a crime, an evil thing that caused only pain. It was ridiculous. But Sirius comforted himself with the knowledge that he and Harry were going to be together for nearly a month: there would be plenty of time to talk to him, to be with him, to make him understand that this was not his fault.

Lunch concluded, with Molly again thanking him before they all left for St. Mungo’s. Sirius, of course, remained behind— he spent ten half-hearted minutes looking for Kreacher, who seemed to have vanished into thin air, but had probably just crawled in between the walls to become one with the house. Giving up, he began to clean the lunch dishes by himself, wondering if he could perhaps convince the Weasleys to move in permanently.

He was elbows-deep in soapy water, halfway through scrubbing a pot, when the kitchen door burst open, and Remus practically flew into the room. He was wearing a thick wool traveling cloak, and there were flakes of snow sprinkled in his graying hair: his face was flushed, but from the cold, or from his haste, Sirius did not know.

“Arthur!” Remus exclaimed urgently. “I heard— I was on an errand for the— so I just heard— is he alright!?”

“He’s going to live,” Sirius said, flipping the pot over with his wand. “He’s at St. Mungo’s now, stable.”

“Right,” Remus said. “Right, okay. Thank Merlin.” He looked around at the kitchen, at the stacks of dishes still on the table. “How is Molly?” He asked. “How are the kids?”

“They’re fine now,” Sirius said conversationally, drying the pot with a flick of his wand. He frowned. “Well, except Harry. He’s in a right state. I don’t think he slept at all.”

“I’m not surprised,” Remus said softly.

“Anyways, what are you doing here?” Sirius wondered, moving onto the silverware. “I thought you were off doing some stuff for the Order— shouldn’t you be hunting down the snake and doing it in yourself?”

Remus laughed metallically. “What, and challenge it to a duel? Run a sword through it?” Sirius shrugged in response, and turned his wand towards the countertops, siphoning dirt and dust off of the surfaces. He felt Remus watching him curiously. “What are you cleaning up for?” He asked.

“All I do is clean, Moony,” Sirius reminded him.

“Usually not this thoroughly,” Remus pointed out, mouth twitching. Well, that was fair.

“Everyone’s gonna stay,” Sirius informed him, and just saying it, he felt his mood soar again.

“For the holidays?”

“Yeah!” Sirius said enthusiastically. “I told them to stay as long as they wanted, so they’ll be closer to Arthur.”

“That was very generous of you,” Remus said quietly.

“I’m a generous bloke,” Sirius said airily, picking up a frying pan. “At least I can do something to help, right? And Harry’ll be here— he’s so in his head right now, all guilty for having a dream— And I mean, it’s a good thing Harry saw it, or Arthur could have _easily_ died. Would’ve been the first Order death of the second war, now wouldn’t it—”

“Sirius,” Remus interrupted forcefully. Sirius looked over at him: he had a somewhat angry, pained look on his face, like Sirius wasn’t being tactful enough.

“What!?” He demanded. “Oh, c’mon, Moony, really, what’re the chances we _all_ survive this thing again? If the last Order was anything to go by— I mean, _I’ll_ survive this round of course, because I’m not allowed to leave the bloody house,” he noted bitterly, waving his free hand dismissively in the air. “But the rest of you lot—”

But then, suddenly, Remus strode swiftly across the room, reached out, and grabbed Sirius’ wrist, stopping its movement. It was so forceful and unexpected that Sirius’ voice died in his throat; a few drops of soapy water slid off of his fingers, down onto Remus’ hand, onto his forearm.

They stared at each other. Inches apart.

Remus was gripping his wrist much too tightly, his eyes boring into Sirius’ own, suddenly wild, almost hungry. And his face was too close, so close that Sirius could feel his breath on his own mouth, breath that was suddenly heavy, shallow, and hot, filling the silence to an almost deafening extent—

And Sirius swallowed, and when his voice came out, it was whispered, and confused, and strangled. “Moony— what—?”

But he didn’t get past that, because suddenly, Remus was kissing him.

Sirius’ entire body went rigid of its own accord— his brain had stopped working— his hand tensed, and the frying pan slipped out of it, and crashed to the floor with an enormous clanging sound— and the sound seemed to reverberate through him, into his very bones, and suddenly, he was awake, he was alert, the sound brought him back to reality— it was proof that this was really happening, Remus was _kissing_ him—

And he lurched forward, responding, his mind yelling as he kissed him back, hungrily, desperately, and in less than a second, Remus’ tongue was in his mouth and his hands were raking through his hair, pulling and tugging at it in a way so familiar after all these years that Sirius couldn’t help but moan. And then— and then— Remus had him against the sink, not seeming to care that Sirius’ hands were still covered in soap, soap that was dripping down his neck as Sirius gripped the sides of his face. And the kissing continued, fiery hot, full of aching desire, and as Remus bit— actually _bit_ his lip, Sirius pulled away, breathless, staring at him, eyes darting across his face, his flushed, anxious face—

“Moony,” he gasped, half-laughing. "Is this— really appropriate!? A man’s been attacked—”

But Remus _growled_ , and thrust forward again, grabbing Sirius and _lifting_ him, lifting him up, carrying him towards the kitchen table, and Sirius nearly fell apart right then, because Merlin _fuck_ , he had forgotten how strong Remus was when he wanted to be, and he placed Sirius on the tabletop, leaning over him again, but before his lips could reach Sirius’ own, the last working part of Sirius’ brain twinged. Sirius raised a hand to Remus’ chest, stopping his descent.

“Wait," he said breathlessly, his eyes searching Remus’ face again. “Have you thought this through? Because I know if you don’t—” he swallowed. “If you’re gonna regret this—”

“—I want you,” Remus gasped, and his hands began to slide down Sirius’ chest in frantic desperation, unbuttoning his robes. “Please, Sirius…” and Remus hissed his name, making Sirius inhale so irregularly that he nearly choked, and he had so many things to say, so many questions to ask, but Remus wasn’t thinking, and Sirius would have sooner died than become the pragmatic one in the relationship. So instead, he found his own hands grappling with Remus’ own robes, pulling at them, his mind static, unable to believe this was happening, and as he tore them open, Remus pushed him flat onto the surface of the table and attacked his neck, and then his lips were on his collarbone, and then on his chest, and then traveling down his stomach, and as the kisses continued, as Remus’ mouth traveled further and further south, Sirius felt his eyes roll back into his head, and rather thought he was going to have to end up re-cleaning the kitchen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ;)


	25. Mistletoe and Holly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christmas at Grimmauld Place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ........... uh yes hello it is midnight
> 
> LMAO
> 
> im,,,,,, back .  
> i am..... SO, SO SORRY about the LITERAL TWO MONTH HIATUS???? but here we are, i managed to produce the building blocks of...... something. 
> 
> Also, on a much more serious note, JK Rowling is still horrible and has recently published an **incredibly** transphobic book. Instead of giving any more money or attention to her, it would be incredible if you could donate to any of these organizations, or pass them on to others who are able to do so.  
> \- https://transgenderlawcenter.org/  
> \- https://marshap.org/  
> \- https://www.twocc.us/  
> \- https://www.glitsinc.org/  
> \- https://mermaidsuk.org.uk/  
> \- https://transgenderni.org.uk/  
> \- https://cliniq.org.uk/about/  
> \- https://transgenderni.org.uk/
> 
> Also if you're looking for a lil more fantasy in your life, here are some amazing books by trans authors!!  
> \- https://www.barnesandnoble.com/blog/sci-fi-fantasy/7-works-of-trans-positive-science-fiction-fantasy/  
> \- https://electricliterature.com/8-fantasy-novels-by-trans-and-nonbinary-authors/
> 
> And thank you so much for bearing with me re: this fic. You are all so kind, and caring, and so, SO, patient. Thank you :') in the future, chapters will be probably be updated once every 2 weeks. I have a full-time job now, so that's the best I can do!

_December 19th - 24th_

_Number 12, Grimmauld Place, London_

When the Weasleys returned to Number 12, Grimmauld Place, in the mid-afternoon, Remus and Sirius were fully clothed, sitting and sipping tea politely in the dining room. Remus didn’t get a chance to talk to Harry, who made a straight beeline for the stairs the minute he walked in the door, but Molly approached him directly, and wrapped him in a hug.

“Molly,” Remus greeted her, patting her back. “How are you holding up?”

“Quite alright, now,” she sighed gratefully. “When did you get back?”

“Around noon,” Remus said, pointedly looking anywhere but at Sirius. “And how’s Arthur?”

“He’s in good spirits, considering…” she shook her head, and then lowered her voice, glancing at her children. “Has Dumbledore spoken to you yet?”

“About Harry?” Remus murmured. “No, not yet.”

“I expect he may want to talk to the lot of us,” Molly whispered. “But for now, well…” she trailed off and shrugged.

The afternoon went on, and with Molly and all of the Weasley kids about the house, Remus did not find another moment alone with Sirius, or a moment to really let what had happened sink in. Though he was clothed, his skin seemed to keep burning in every place where Sirius’ lips had touched, and while Sirius seemed perfectly happy to play a game of Exploding Snap with the twins, or talk to Ron about Quidditch, laughing uproariously without a care in the world, Remus found it impossible to focus on his conversation with Molly. It was strange to look at Sirius sitting there, absentmindedly fiddling with the buttons on his robes, when a few hours ago Remus had ripped those buttons open with his teeth.

Afternoon bled into evening, and Harry did not come down for dinner—he was sleeping, Ron reported a bit awkwardly to his mother. Ginny frowned at her plate, but said nothing while the twins exchanged a furtive glance. Remus did not know how to decipher their expressions, but the one tiny part of his mind that wasn’t focused on Sirius was feeling a small twinge of concern for Harry, who he thought was probably just pretending to be asleep.

It was late at night when Remus went upstairs, entered Sirius’ room, and then stopped short, staring at the bed.

The door squeaked open behind him.

“So I have a question,” Sirius’ voice said, low and husky. Remus felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up straight.

“Do you?” He murmured.

“Yeah.” Sirius grabbed his shoulder, and spun him around with a great deal of force, so they were face to face. “When you shagged my brains out on the kitchen table, was that meant to be a one-time thing?”

Remus stared at him, heart thumping, and said, truthfully, “…No.”

“Because I really don’t fancy getting dumped by you again,” Sirius said (a bit dramatically, Remus thought). “My ego’s still recovering from the last one.”

“Your ego seems quite intact,” Remus pointed out dryly.

“You padded it quite nicely today,” Sirius replied, and Remus blushed in spite of himself. “I’m just saying, Moony— I’m giving you an out. We can just pretend it never happened.”

Remus looked at him. Sirius was looking back, his jaw rigid, set. He was being serious.

“I don’t want that,” Remus said, in a low voice. Sirius stared at him, and cocked his head to the side, curious.

“What’s changed your mind?” He asked.

Remus stared at him. He couldn’t put it into words. So, instead, he smiled weakly, and said, “We share a bed.”

And Sirius’ lips were on his mouth in an instant.

The next few days were some of the most bewildering Remus had experienced.

Sirius woke up the next morning before anyone else, and when Remus found him he and Mundungus were hauling a Christmas tree in through the front door, banging into the walls as they went. By the time the Weasleys had awoken, it was up in the drawing-room, blocking Sirius’ family tree, and every surface was covered in magical, never-melting snow.

Hermione arrived that evening after sending Sirius an owl, and she nearly fell over in surprise when he opened the door to her, beaming, and practically pulled her into the glittering hallway. She made a beeline for the stairs, and later that night, Harry finally came downstairs, showing his face for the first time since they had visited Arthur, and looking quite happy. He greeted Remus cheerfully, and spent the rest of that night laughing by the fire, Ron and Hermione on either side of him, and losing spectacularly to a game of Exploding Snap with Ginny.

Harry’s apparently better mood seemed to rile Sirius up even more: with every passing day, his smile got a bit larger.

He hung silver and gold streamers and boughs of holly from every portrait and banister. He cleaned with an enthusiasm quite out of place for cleaning: Kreacher seemed to still be hiding somewhere, but this fact only improved Sirius’ mood, as he hung Santa hats and beards from every stuffed elf head along the grand staircase. He sang as he decorated, too, great booming Christmas ballads that swelled throughout the house and seemed to reverberate in Remus’ own chest. It was such an ancient but achingly familiar sound that Remus half-expected to hear James’ voice to join in a horrible attempt at harmony, and to hear Lily roar that the holiday break hadn’t even started yet and if they didn’t shut up and let her study for her exams she would transfigure both of them into pieces of fruitcake.

And of course, this new, happy Sirius was infectious and cheeky— Remus had forgotten how unbelievable he could be, stealing kisses when no one was looking, once _squeezing his butt_ as they were all decorating the tree. There was one night during dinner where Sirius’ hand innocently found his thigh in the middle of the main course, and Remus had to excuse himself before dessert. Remus would be walking innocently down the corridor when a hand would grasp his wrist, and yank him into one of the many spare bedrooms— the hot lips would be on his before he had a chance to breathe. It was moments like this that as Sirus’ kisses traveled lower and lower, he’d have to deliriously point his wand at the door, locking it as his mouth fell open in ecstasy, sincerely hoping that the twins had ceased their use of Extendable Ears.

They slept together every night, but it was different now. Instead of Remus lying poker still on one side, staring pointedly at the ceiling, he found himself leaning it to allow Sirius to wrap around him. Instead of thinking about what it’d be like to touch Sirius’ hand, he could touch all of him, every part, wherever he liked. Even attempting to put on nightclothes before bed became pointless. They’d end up thrown across the room, hanging from the corners of the wardrobe and underneath the desk.

Mistletoe seemed to start growing out of nowhere in curious places at curious times: Sirius had to be behind it at first, but it seemed to take on a mind of its own. One erupted from the ceiling above Tonks’ head as she entered the hallway, and without pause she passionately snogged the trolls’ leg umbrella stand as the twins roared with laughter; on another occasion, one hopeful sprig peeked out above Ron and Hermione: Ron failed to notice it, but Hermione walked away very quickly, her cheeks very dark red. Although, nobody avoided the plant more than Harry, who looked at it like it was a reminder of a very uncomfortable memory.

“Don’t like mistletoe, Harry?” Sirius asked innocently one night, as they were all lounging by the fire. Remus did not miss the smirks Hermione and Ron threw his way at the question.

“Er,” Harry said in response, which made Remus’ mouth twitch with amusement. Sirius did not push the matter.

Remus woke up on Christmas Eve morning entangled between Sirius’ limbs, his body a furnace in contrast with the cold, drafty air. Sirius seemed to stir with him: as he stretched hugely and blinked open his eyes, Remus voiced a thought that he had woken up with:

“What shall we get Harry for Christmas?” he asked.

Sirius’ eyes widened comically: apparently, suddenly quite awake, he gasped in a very over-dramatic way. “I’m sorry— you want to give him a _joint_ present— from the both of us?” He grinned devilishly, and wrapped his legs even together around Remus’. “Oh Moony, people will talk…”

Remus rolled his eyes. “I’m shocked people aren’t already talking,” he said dryly. “You were nearly groping me on the couch last night.”

Sirius grinned. “Please— no one in this house notices any sort of romance. They’re all so bloody awkward— I overheard Bill talking about his girlfriend the other day and I swear Harry looked like he was going to pass out.”

Remus frowned reproachingly. “Oh, leave him be. He’s young— and I’m sure he’s a bit focused on other matters at the moment.”

“Oh, speaking of,” Sirius said suddenly, sitting up straight. “Why don’t we get him something to help with his, y’know, secret bloody Defense group? Like one of those sparring statues that curse you when you least expect it— or— ugh, remember that potion that went around sixth year that some kid invented— y’know, the one that made everything around you speed up, could be good for reflexes—”

“How about a book?” Remus suggested.

Sirius turned to him in disgust. “Really, Moony,” he said incredulously. “Sometimes it is _unfathomable_ to me how I could possibly be attracted to you.”

“A book on defensive magic, you twat,” Remus retorted. “Harry may be naturally gifted, but if he’s teaching spells to others he _might_ need to be able to convey the actual mechanics of it all, wouldn’t you agree?”

Sirius paused, and then dropped back on the pillow, and grumbled, “That’s actually… not a bad idea.”

“I’ve been known to have good ones every once in a while,” Remus smiled.

“I’ll say,” Sirius replied, and ran a finger down Remus’ bare spine. He nearly yelped, but managed to sit up, and swing his legs over the side of the bed. Sirius sat up too, his hair mussed, suddenly frowning. “Where are you going?”

“Diagon Alley,” Remus replied, pulling a set of his robes from Sirius’ wardrobe. “To get the book.” He pulled the olive green robes over his head, wiping bits of tinsel off the shoulders.

“I wish I could come with you,” Sirius murmured.

Remus wrapped his warmest traveling cloak around himself, and smiled down at Sirius, still swaddled in blankets. “I’ll be back soon— and I’ll make it worth the wait.” And he let his hand grace Sirius’ hipbone as he left, feeling a thrill in his stomach at the color that rose to Sirius’ face at the promise.

— -

_December 25th, 1995_

_Number 12, Grimmauld Place, London // St. Mungos Hospital, London_

Remus awoke early in the morning and crept down to Harry’s room without managing to wake Sirius, who had been awake all night putting the final decorative touches on the house. Remus had to hand it to him— it looked amazing. He had somehow managed to turn the cold, dark, skeletal house into a warm, cozy slice of Christmas. Floating candles blinked at him cheerfully on his way down the stairs, and tiny laughing fairies followed him across the magical snow to Harry’s bedroom door.

He opened the door as softly as he could and stepped inside. There were already two small mountains of gifts on the foot of both beds. Ron was sprawled across his blankets, mouth open, snoring into his pillow. Harry was curled up in his own, muttering unintelligibly in his sleep. Remus placed the rather tall, rectangular package amongst the other presents: he hadn’t been able to resist getting Harry an entire _set_ of books, a superb series entitled _Practical Defensive Magic and Its Use Against the Dark Arts_. The volumes had, it seemed, been published in direct response to Slinkhard’s book on theory only: Remus had felt a savage sort of fondness flipping through them. They weren’t alone in their condemnation of the Ministry: it seemed as though some people were fighting back, too, in their own ways. It had been a not- too- cheap find, but seeing as he had double the amount of his usual budget with Sirius splitting the cost, he had bit his lip and bought it anyways. And despite his dwindling Gringotts account, he did not regret it— Harry would only get so far teaching on his own, and this was a tactic that Remus could actually help him with.

He left the room and decided that now that he was up, he might as well make some hot chocolate, which was always something he seemed to crave around the holidays. But as he descended down into the kitchen, he heard the sound of familiar, muffled sobbing. His heart sank a bit.

“Molly?” He called out softly, opening the door. She was sitting at the table, her head in her hands, Fred and George on either side of her, both looking uncomfortable. A box lay open on the table, revealing a white hand-knitted jumper with a large golden “P” on it.

“Come on, mum,” Fred was saying bracingly, as George rubbed her back. “You know Percy’s nothing more than a humongous pile of rat droppings, he’s not worth it.”

Molly wailed. Fred and George exchanged a dark look.

“What’s going on?” Remus asked quietly. The twins looked up in unison, and seemed to be hit with relief.

“Lupin— er, Merry Christmas,” George said hastily. “Don’t you worry, it’s just a classic case of the family prat—”

“D-d-d-don’t _call_ him that!” Molly cried. “He— he’s s-s-s-still your b-b-brother…”

“Not from where I’m standing,” Fred muttered, scowling. “Come on, mum, d’you really think we’ll live to see the day where Percy turns his back on the Ministry? It’s not your fault he’s a arse-kissing, power-hungry—”

“Why don’t you two go upstairs?” Remus interrupted loudly. “I think I heard a small explosion coming from your room on my way down.” He hadn’t, but apparently that was a common enough occurrence, as nobody in the room questioned it. The twins scurried out of the room, shooting Remus grateful looks. Remus approached Molly, and put a steady hand on her shoulder.

“Oh Remus, I’m s-s-s-sorry, y-you don’t need to—”

“The only people who should be crying on Christmas is Sirius’ mother’s portrait,” Remus said firmly. “What’s happened?”

Molly mopped her eyes. “It’s P-Percy,” she shuddered. “I knit my k-kids s-s-sweaters every year… I know it’s silly, b-b-but it’s tradition…”

“I don’t think it’s silly,” Remus said quietly.

“Well— he— he returned his,” she explained, a tear sliding down her cheek as she gestured to the box in front of her. “And it w-wouldn’t be that b-big a d-d-deal, but he— well, he hasn’t even mentioned Arthur— hasn’t even— hasn’t even asked if he was okay— he could have died and he— he hasn’t even tried to visit him…”

“I’m sorry,” Remus said heavily, and sat down next to her, securing his arm tightly around her warm shoulder. “But I’m sure he hasn’t stopped caring, deep down. It’s possible he doesn’t think Arthur would want him there, after what happened between them.”

Molly buried her face into her hands again. “Of course Arthur— well— I mean— if he— if he apologized, I’m sure… but he— I just don’t know what else to do…”

“There isn’t much you _can_ do,” Remus said softly. “It sounds like this is something he needs to figure out on his own. You can’t force him to turn against the Ministry, and you can’t force him back into your lives.”

“But what if— what if he never—”

“You can’t think about that,” Remus said. “It’s Christmas, Molly. You have a house full of children who love you.” He smiled down at her, and added, “Children that, mind you, wear your sweaters every chance they can get.”

She wiped her nose, and then Sirius exploded into the room.

“HAVE YOURSELF A MERRY LITTLE CHRISTMAS, MAKE THE YULETIDE _GAY_ —” he came to an abrupt stop at the scene before him, frowning. “Alright there, you two?”

“Fine,” Molly said unconvincingly. “Merry Christmas.”

“…I’ll get started on the turkey, then, yeah?” Sirius said awkwardly, shooting Remus a look.

“That would be nice,” Molly said thickly, and Sirius disappeared into the pantry. Remus gave her shoulders a squeeze, but it was quite clear that, for now, she wanted to be alone. So, giving her one last pat, he left the kitchen and headed into the dining room, waving his wand at the piano, which started playing soft Christmas music. He heard the Weasley kids, Hermione, and Harry come down the stairs and descend into the basement, apparently on their way to bring Kreacher a present. Come to think of it, Kreacher had been quite quiet the past week: Remus was used to him creeping into rooms and whispering highly offensive comments, but he hadn’t seen him at _all_ recently.

Christmas lunch was a joyful affair. The table was laden with food, groaning under the sheer weight of heaps of mashed potatoes and the giant turkey.

“Do you think it’ll hold?” Molly asked nervously.

“Oh, I dunno, this table’s pretty sturdy, wouldn’t you say so, Remus?” Sirius said innocently, and Remus very much wished he could drown himself in the gravy boat.

They ate their fill, talking animatedly, and Harry found the time to thanks Remus and Sirius for the books without Molly overhearing.

“It was our pleasure,” Remus murmured, smirking slightly. “As your former teacher, it would be irresponsible for me not to give you some sort of assistance.”

Harry grinned. “I thought of having everyone give Patronuses a go after the holidays,” he whispered, and he sounded _excited_.

“Very ambitious,” Remus said, smiling. “Make sure you give everyone some time for that one. It requires a lot of practice, and patience— as you know.”

“Right,” Harry said.

“Maybe invite Snape to a meeting,” Sirius said thoughtfully. “The closest you can get to a real dementor, I reckon…” Harry snorted into his goblet of pumpkin juice as Remus rolled his eyes. 

Mundungus showed up at the house just in time for pudding, bringing with him a very clearly stolen car. Moody arrived soon after, and they all left for St. Mungo’s to visit Arthur, but not before Sirius pulled Remus into the pantry and kissed him against an enormous sack of flour.

“Merlin’s Beard,” Remus muttered against Sirius’ lips, willing his body to calm itself down. “Canwe perhaps pick this up when I’m not supposed to be on my way to the hospital?”

“Of course we can,” Sirius said huskily into his ear. “Give Arthur my best.”

“A sentiment that you could have expressed without shoving your tongue down my throat,” Remus pointed out.

“But what’s the fun in that?” Sirius demanded, and then he plunged his hand into his pocket and pulled out a small parcel. “Think you can give this to him without Molly seeing?”

“I never agreed to be your accomplice.”

Sirius kissed him again. “Yes you did. Don’t worry, it’s nothing dangerous or illeg— well, it’s nothing dangerous.”

Remus rolled his eyes, but took the package and slipped it into his pocket, before hurrying upstairs and joining the rest as they piled into the car, and drove off to St. Mungo’s.

The hospital was very festive: someone else very clearly shared Sirius’ eruption of holiday joy. They made their way to Arthur’s room, only to find him looking strangely shifty as he sat with the remnants of his lunch: this did not go unnoticed by Molly, who, after dropping a pile of gifts at the foot of his bed, fixed him with a piercing stare.

It was only after he opened Harry’s gift that Molly noticed his freshly changed bandages.

“Well — now don’t get upset, Molly,” Arthur said nervously, after she pointed them out. “But Augustus Pye had an idea… he’s the Trainee Healer, you know, lovely young chap and very interested in… um… complementary medicine… I mean, some of these old Muggle remedies . . . well, they’re called stitches, Molly, and they work very well on— on Muggle wounds—”

As Molly practically growled in response, Remus turned away rather hurriedly, hoping to distance himself from the inevitable explosion that was surely on its way— and found himself looking at another man in a hospital bed, watching the scene unfold with a very peculiar expression. As Bill and the twins skirted from the room, something in Remus’ stomach jumped: Molly had mentioned Arthur’s roommate to him, why he was in the hospital… and in Remus’ reserved haste to give Molly and Arthur some space, he found himself at the man’s bedside, as if drawn there by a magnet.

“Do you mean to tell me that you have been messing about with _Muggle remedies_?” Molly’s voice rose.

“I hope we’re not bothering you,” Remus said quietly to the man, who looked away from Molly and towards him, blinking in surprise.

“…No,” he said gruffly. He paused for a moment and then glanced back over to Arthur’s bed, where Molly’s voice was continuing to get louder and louder. “You family too?”

“A friend,” Remus said.

“Hmph,” the man grunted. “Bloke’s gotta lot of family. Very… involved.”

As if to punctuate this fact, Molly’s voice seemed to swell into shouting territory and Harry, Ron, Ginny, and Hermione hurried out of the ward, skirting around Remus in their haste to leave.

“Are you expecting any visitors today?” Remus asked as politely and non-intrusively as he could, as the door slammed and Molly blanched. The man snorted.

“No,” he said bitterly. His gaze flitted to his side table, where there was a small photo set up. “I don’t get visitors.”

“They may need some time,” Remus said quietly. The wizard whipped to face him, suddenly looking murderous.

“Look mate,” he said angrily. “I dunno why you think this is any of your business— are you from the Ministry, or something? Because I’ve already _given_ you lot my bloody name—”

“No,” Remus said firmly. “Like I said , I’m a friend of Arthur’s.”

“Well _he_ works at the Ministry, so—”but he cut himself off and suddenly, his eyes narrowed. “Ah— you’re him, aren’t you?”

“I’m sorry?”

“The werewolf, his werewolf friend,” the wizard said accusingly, waving towards Arthur’s general direction. “He told me he had one.”

“Well, yes,” Remus said. “I suppose I am.”

“And what, you thought you’d try to— to _bond_ with me or something?” He demanded, looking a bit disgusted. “Because I don’t wanna be a part of— I don’t— whatever little _group_ you lot have—”

“You’ll have to be a bit more specific,” Remus said politely.

“I lost my job,” the man growled, not answering him. “They sent an owl a few days ago. Healers telling me I’ll live a normal life an’ all, and then I get sacked.”

“That can happen,” Remus said heavily.

“So what?” He demanded. “I’m unemployed now? If I don’t have a job, how am I going to be able to afford that bloody potion or whatever?”

“Wolfsbane Potion,” Remus said quietly, thinking of the package of vials that would arrive at Grimmauld Place in a couple of days.

“Yeah, whatever,” he said. His eyes traveled over Remus’ shabby robes, and suddenly, he swallowed very thickly. “They tell me it hurts. The— the transformation, or whatever.”

Remus nodded. “Yes. It does.”

“How bad?”

“It’s… quite awful,” Remus said truthfully. “But, it’s manageable.”

“They told me I have to lock myself up,” he said. “If I can’t get the Potion. Do all of you do that?”

“Most of us,” Remus said, now thinking of Fenrir Greyback.

“Have you ever bit anyone?” The man said, suddenly, accusingly.

Remus stared at him, abruptly taken aback. “No,” he said, his voice suddenly metallic to his own ears.

“Are you _sure_?”

“Yes,” Remus said firmly, a lump rising in his throat, every narrow miss he’d had over the decades flashing through his memory. “I am sure.”

The man glared down at his lap, and Remus assumed that was the end of the conversation, but as he gave him a pained smile and was about to wish him a Merry Christmas, the man spoke again.

“I was gonna propose,” he said, his lips barely moving. “To my girlfriend.”

“I’m sorry,” Remus said softly.

“She’s a Muggle,” he said bluntly. “She doesn’t even know I’m a wizard. She doesn’t know anything about magic. I was gonna tell her.”

Remus was quiet.

“She doesn’t even know I’m here,” he half-laughed. “I told her I was spending Christmas at my mothers’. Course, my mum won’t even send me an owl, not now.”

“Perhaps,” Remus said softly. “When you are released, you could speak with her— your girlfriend, I mean.”

“And say what?” The man snorted. “Magic exists, and, oh yeah, I’m a vicious monstrous beast who will eat you in your sleep?”

“I have found that when someone is not given a proper explanation, they seek answers out on their own,” Remus said, thinking of James, Sirius, and Peter, when they were all kids at Hogwarts.

“I’m guessing _you’re_ not married,” he growled.

“…No,” Remus said.

“If you hadn’t been bitten, would you have gotten married?”

Remus swallowed. “You will have to change some of your plans,” he said, Sirius’ face swimming in his mind. “But there are still people who will continue to care for you, no matter how much you try and push them away.”

“You really believe that?” The man scoffed.

“I’ve seen it,” Remus whispered. “It can be quite infuriating."

“Excuse me,” a voice said suddenly: a Healer was standing a few feet away, hovering anxiously. “But I need to—”

“Of course, my apologies,” Remus said, and nodding to the man, returned to Arthur’s bedside, where Arthur was lying now, alone.

“Where’s Molly?” Remus asked, for he suddenly realized that he had somehow managed to tune out the entire rest of her rampage.

“She, er— went off to have a word with my Healer,” Arthur said, flushing a bit.

“Ah yes,” Remus said, his lips twitching, “Stitches.” Arthur shrugged sheepishly, and then cast a glance sideways towards the werewolf, who was staring off into space as the Healer pulled back his gown to inspect his bite.

“I’m sorry if he gave you a hard time,” Arthur said in a low voice.

“It’s alright,” Remus said quietly. “By the way…” he reached into his bag and pulled out a small parcel. “Sirius wanted me to give this to you for Christmas, but he informed me that under no circumstances can Molly see it.”

“Oh,” Arthur said, his face breaking out into a grin as he nervously glanced towards the door. “Marvelous— yes, well—”

“I’m sure I’m going to regret asking,” Remus said wearily. “But what exactly is it?”

“Apparently, Sirius found a few Muggle items hidden in his room that he had, ah, _experimented_ on in his youth, and well, you know… I thought I might take a look at them— for educational purposes, of course…”

“Of course.”

The ride back to Grimmauld Place was strange. While Molly spent the entire time ranting about the dangers of experimental healing and the horrors of Muggles, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, and Harry were exceptionally silent. The twins cracked jokes, but even Ginny smiled only half heartedly, and spent the majority of the time staring out the window, apparently lost in thought. Harry, on the other hand, never looked up from his shoes. Only Hermione and Ron looked at one another, exchanging glances every so often, communicating silently. Remus wondered vaguely what had happened, where in the hospital they had possibly gone, until he overheard a snatch of conversation as they exited the car.

“I can’t believe he never told us,” Ron muttered.

“I can,” Harry said darkly, shutting the door behind him.

“It makes sense now,” Hermione said in a hushed voice— she sounded close to tears. “Remember how upset he was after Professor Moody used the Cruciatus Curse on that spider in class last year?”

“That wasn’t Moody,” Harry reminded her dully, as they advanced towards the row of houses, awaiting on Number 12 to appear. “It was Crouch’s son, and he knew what he was doing. He helped Bellatrix torture his parents in the first place, that’s why Crouch threw him in Azkaban.”

Remus’ heart sank.

“Merlin’s pants,” Ron breathed.

“He was so close to him in the end, too,” Ginny whispered furiously. “Neville told me— they had a private meeting, he praised his Herbology skills…”

The door appeared, and Remus strode forward to tap it with his wand as the kids fell silent. If his suspicions were correct, the kids had paid a visit to the Longbottoms on their excursion around the hospital. His heart clenched— he couldn’t remember the last time he had seen them— but this train of thought was halted as soon as it started, as Sirius’ booming, exuberant welcome overtook them all.

The night ended later than Remus expected: Sirius’ continued good spirits seemed to lift Harry, Hermione, Ron and Ginny a bit out of their subdued moods by dinner’s end, and Tonks and Bill both dropped by several hours later with an armful of butterbeer and firewhiskey to revive them from the holiday sleepiness, even though Tonks managed to break more than half the bottles on her way in. Her hair was glittering gold for the occasion, her eyes green as the holly, and as she greeted Sirius with matched enthusiasm, Remus wondered, not for the first time, how these two family members had managed to end up so unlike the cold, hateful people in the portraits on the walls around them. They celebrated into the night, eventually slipping into a comfortable, warm haze in front of the roaring fire. Sirius looked more content than Remus had ever seen him: he was a little drunk, slumped by his side on the couch, stroking a half-asleep, purring Crookshanks. Sirius’ eyes were resting happily on Harry, who was sitting on the floor fiddling with the tiny model Firebolt that Tonks had gotten him.

“Good gift, that,” Remus said quietly, to Tonks, who was sitting on his other side.

She grinned. “Well, he’s already got the real thing.”

“I got him that, you know,” Sirius chimed in sleepily, shifting towards Remus’ shoulder. “Two years back.”

“Well, what if he swallows a shrinking solution by accident someday?” Tonks mused. “Then he can ride this one.”

“Ah yes,” Remus said dryly. “Very practical.”

“Well, what did you get him?” She demanded, grinning. “A book?”

Remus looked resolutely at the fire as Sirius cackled into his shoulder.

It was nearly midnight when Tonks and Bill left, and the rest of them made their way to bed. Sleepy murmurs of “Merry Christmas” floated throughout the corridors as they ascended, and Remus stifled a yawn as he followed Sirius into his bedroom.

“Awww,” Sirius said, his voice thick with tiredness. “Sleepy, are we?”

“You should talk,” Remus rolled his eyes, unbuttoning the front of his robes. “You’re about to keel over.”

“I’ve got enough energy for a Christmas shag, though.”

“Very romantic,” Remus said dryly.

“Hey,” Sirius said, holding his hands up. “I could’ve bought you gifts of roses and gold, but I know you’d never accept it.”

“You planned to give me roses on Valentine’s Day in seventh year, and they nearly killed James.”

“The prat,” Sirius snorted, climbing into bed. “He wanted some to give to Lily— he should’ve planned his own thing. How was I supposed to know they were mildly poisonous?”

“You stole them from Sprout’s greenhouse,” Remus scoffed, joining him underneath the covers. “Of course they were poisonous.”

Sirius smiled at him, his teeth shining slightly in the dark, and then he whispered, “I did get you a present, though.”

“Sirius,” Remus muttered.

“It’s nothing I had to buy,” Sirius yawned. “But if you’re gonna be all annoying about it, I’ll save it for your birthday.” And before Remus could say anything, Sirius kissed him, softly and slowly, before pulling away and sighing into his pillow. Remus felt his entire body settle into the mattress, soft and safe. And then, suddenly, he thought of all of the patients in St. Mungos: the Longbottoms, in a ward somewhere, unaware of each others’ identities; Arthur, asleep in a hospital bed right now, when he should be with Molly; and next to him, the werewolf— the werewolf who was perhaps still awake, looking out the window at the waxing moon. He wondered if he had reached out to his girlfriend or not. Perhaps he hadn’t. Perhaps she was still at her home, alone, unaware that he had been bitten by a monster, unaware that such monsters even existed, with a gift of her own, wrapped, waiting for him to come back to her.

He reached for Sirius’ hand, and lay there, watching the snowflakes dance softly against the darkened window panes.


	26. Snivellus’s Gift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Snape requests a meeting with Harry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some dialogue is quoted from OotP Chapter 24 to maintain canon consistency.

_Late December 1995 & Early January 1996_

_12 Grimmauld Place, London, England_

Sirius found Kreacher in the attic a few days after Christmas, covered in dust and rifling through an old box of forgotten photographs. The elf maintained that he had been there the entire time, and suggested that perhaps Sirius had been too caught up with the “filthy invasion of Mudbloods and blood traitors” to notice. 

Kreacher seemed in a bizarrely good mood considering said invasion, however, and his spirits seemed to be rising as Sirius’ fell, for with Christmas over, every day seemed to count down towards Harry’s inevitable departure. Remus had guard duty on New Year’s Eve, and as they delved into January, Sirius found himself absolutely dreading the coming weeks. Several Order meetings were held, late at night while the kids were asleep, but Dumbledore failed to attend a single one. He merely sent instructions, but those too were frustratingly vague, with no direct mention of Harry at all. The aftermath of Arthur’s attack was still weighing on the lot of them, and reports became much more somber, serious, straightforward.

The fifth of January brought a full moon, and while Remus curled up to sleep in Regulus’s locked bedroom, Sirius stayed awake, sitting in his mother’s room, charming piles of dead rats to dance for Buckbeak’s pre-dinner amusement. He waved his wand, watching the floating fairy lights by the windows flicker feebly, their magic dying out, and couldn’t help but feel the cold, bitter resentment creep back into the pits of his stomach. The excitement of the holidays— the arrival of Harry, the elated shock of his relationship with Remus, the energy that came with living in a crowded house, the bright shine of Christmas decorations— it was all fading into reality, the reality that soon, once again, the tinsel would come down, and he’d be right back to an empty, aging prison of dark wood and haunted whispers.

He’d almost rather die.

And then, on the eleventh of January, the day before Harry was due to leave, the one person arrived on his doorstep that could make his mood only worse.

Sirius was lounging broodily on the kitchen table, re-reading old reports out of sheer boredom when Molly bustled into the kitchen, followed by none other than Severus Snape. Upon seeing this unexpected and unpleasant houseguest, Sirius sat poker straight in his seat.

“What’s he doing here?” Sirius demanded. Snape towered behind Molly, staring down his nose at Sirius with an air of greasy superiority.

“I’m here, of course, on behalf of the Order,” Snape said in a low, silky voice. “I understand that such matters may have slipped your mind during your preoccupations with the holiday, but I might remind you some of us cannot waste time with such… frivolities.”

“Ah, another Christmas spent alone then, Snape?” Sirius said loudly, resisting the urge to stand. “All your old friends still kicking it in Azkaban?”

“Sirius, _really_!” Molly interjected, her face a bit pale. “That’s quite enough of that!” She turned towards Snape, whose mouth was twisted into a subtle but present scowl. “I— would you care for some tea, Severus?”

“No, I cannot stay long,” Snape said distastefully. “I merely require a moment to speak with Potter.” His dark glittering eyes slid towards Sirius, as he added, “…Alone.”

“ _Harry_?” Sirius emphasized, leaning forward, a bit aggressively, in his chair. “Why?”

“That is not your concern,” Snape said cooly. “Dumbledore specifically requested—”

“—It _absolutely_ is my concern,” Sirius interrupted him. “He’s my godson.”

“And how touching you’ve finally come to embrace that responsibility,” Snape said, his voice empty, and he pulled a letter from his robes and waved his wand— the parchment floated across the surface of the table, stopping and landing in front of Sirius’ hands.

“What’s this rubbish?” Sirius asked, staring down at it.

“A letter, Black,” Snape said, sounding bored. “Has it been so long since you’ve received one?” And before Sirius could answer, he turned to Molly. “I would appreciate it if you’d collect Potter right away.”

“I— of course,” Molly said, glancing nervously towards Sirius. “I think he’s upstairs… I’ll only be a moment.” She bustled out of the kitchen and up the stairs, the doors swinging closed behind her, leaving an ugly silence in her wake. Sirius picked up and opened the letter, eyes narrowed at the lines, his pupils jumping across the page: _“…The incident with Arthur Weasley… Harry’s dream… Voldemort’s connection… forged in his death and strengthened with his rebirth… in essence divided, but the weakness and penetrability of the mind can offer unexpected pathways… the necessity for internal strengthening and self-protection from external threats…”_

Sirius swallowed. The words seemed to dance around each other, and he suddenly thought back to Harry, the morning after the attack, pulling him into the pantry and going on and on about how he felt he was going mad, about how he had been the snake himself, about how worried he was… and he, Sirius, had firmly assured him that it was nothing to worry about, just a dream… for Dumbledore would have told Harry had there really been a cause for alarm…

“Quite finished?” Snape asked waspishly from the other side of the table. Sirius placed the letter back onto the table and glared at him across the shining wood.

“Yes, a thrilling read,” Sirius hissed.

“As you can see, then, this is a private matter,” Snape continued. “Your presence is not—”

“—I’m not going anywhere,” Sirius said firmly.

“No, you tend not to these days, I suppose,” Snape replied, his lip curling as he took a seat, glaring at the wall. Sirius felt his neck grow hot, and he resisted the urge to hurl his wand like a projectile at Snape’s ugly, greasy little face— he settled on staring pointedly at the ceiling, imagining it collapsing on top of Snape and killing him on impact. They sat there in a heavy, hate-filled silence for only a few seconds before the door hesitantly creaked opened.

“Er,” Harry announced uncomfortably, half shuffling into the kitchen with a very strong air of wishing to be almost anywhere else.

“Sit, down, Potter,” Snape commanded, as if this were his own classroom and Harry was a petulant student. Sirius grit his teeth and leaned back on the rear legs of his chair, glaring steadily at the ceiling.

“You know, I think I’d prefer if you didn’t didn’t give orders here, Snape,” Sirius said, his voice hard. “It’s my house, you see.” He was pleased to notice out of the corner of his eye that Snape’s face had flushed with anger. Harry walked awkwardly to Sirius’ side, and sat down next to him, looking warily at Snape from across the table. If everything hadn’t been so tense, it would almost be funny: three years ago, Sirius never would have thought he’d end up sitting in his childhood kitchen with both the person he loved most and the person he hated most in the world.

“I was supposed to see you alone, Potter,” Snape sneered, his face turning back to a normal color. “But Black —”

“I’m his godfather,” Sirius interrupted, his voice loud and protective.

“I am here on Dumbledore’s orders, but by all means stay, Black,” Snape replied, eyes glittering. “I know you like to feel… _involved_.”

The conversation, unsurprisingly, did not get any better from there. As Snape spoke on, he informed them of the horrifically unpleasant news: on Dumbledore’s orders, he would be teaching Harry the art of Occlumency. Occlumency, and, of course, Legilimency, had always been popular subjects amongst the Black family. Bellatrix herself was particularly skilled in both areas, something she had used to her advantage quite early on— as a child, Sirius had learned to avert his gaze from his eldest cousin when he was telling a lie. Regulus had apparently been quite eager to learn the craft— Sirius had heard through gossip that their parents taught him in his later years at school. Fat lot of good it did him in the end.

As Snape spoke about the upcoming arrangements, the look on Harry’s face grew steadily more horrified. Private lessons, once a week, Snape himself would be penetrating Harry’s mind… he would have access to all of his secrets, desires, hopes and fears…

So it was when Snape finally made to leave that Sirius stood up, goaded on by the sickened look on his godson’s face. He looked Snape in the eye. “If I hear you’re using these Occlumency lessons to give Harry a hard time,” he said forcefully. “You’ll have me to answer to.”

Snape eyed him up and down, a smirk forming on his thin, pale lips.“How touching,” he jeered, holding his gaze. “But surely you have noticed that Potter is very like his father?”

“Yes,” Sirius said instantly, unable to keep the pride out of his voice. “I have.”

“Well, then,” Snape continued, his sneer growing wider. “You’ll know he’s so arrogant that criticism simply bounces off him.”

It was like someone had stabbed Sirius with a white-hot poker. Without thinking, forgetting that Harry was standing there, and perhaps in that moment, not even caring, he threw his chair aside and advanced across the room, straight towards Snape, plunging his hand into his pocket and pulling out his wand, ready to curse Snape until he was unrecognizable, until he was a tiny piece of squirming vermin on the cold stone floor— Snape pulled his own wand out, his eyes flitting shrewdly across Sirius’ face— they stopped within a foot of each other, as if ready to duel—

“Sirius!” Harry said warningly, half-rising from his seat, but Sirius ignored him.

“I’ve warned you, _Snivellus_ ,” Sirius spat at Snape, his body shaking, James’ face swimming in his mind. He thought of everyone who had decided to trust this hateful, shriveled husk of a man, a man that had never been anything but cruel towards Harry, a man who had never shown anything but contempt towards every single member of the Order, a man skilled at lying, a man whose only childhood friends were currently active Death Eaters. “I don’t care if Dumbledore thinks you’ve reformed, I know better—”

“Oh?” Snape breathed back, malice etched all over his face. “But why don’t you tell him so? Or are you afraid he might not take the advice of a man who has been hiding inside his mother’s house for six months very seriously?”

“Tell me, how is Lucius Malfoy these days?” Sirius retorted, his voice sounding uncharacteristically high to his own ears. He thought back to a young first-year Snape nearly kissing Malfoy’s boots. “I expect he’s delighted his lapdog’s working at Hogwarts, isn’t he?”

“Speaking of dogs, did you know that Lucius Malfoy recognized you last time you risked a little jaunt outside?” Snape whispered dangerously. “Clever idea, Black, getting yourself seen on a safe station platform…” He smirked, glancing around the room. “…Gave you a cast-iron excuse not to leave your hidey-hole in the future, didn’t it?”

Sirius hoisted his wand into the air.

“NO!” Harry shouted, and Sirius was vaguely aware of his godson leaping over the table-top and running to place himself between them. “Sirius!” Harry continued, lifting up his hands, blocking any chance of getting in a clear shot. “Don’t—”

“—Are you calling me a _coward_?” Sirius screamed over him, grabbing Harry’s shoulders and attempting to push him aside, but Harry was stronger than he looked, and didn’t move.

“Why, yes,” Snape said contemptuously over the back of Harry’s head. “I suppose I am.”

“Harry!” Sirius seethed, pulse pounding, shoving at his godson with as much force as he could muster. “Get— out— of— it!” But Harry remained standing, and merely stuck out his other hand towards Snape, trying to keep them apart from one another. Sirius had nearly decided to jinx his godson out of the way, when all of a sudden, the door burst open.

“Cured!” A voice boomed happily. “Completely cured!”

With their wands still pointed in each others faces, both Sirius and Snape whipped their heads towards the door, where the Weasley kids, Hermione, Molly, and Arthur stood frozen in the doorway. The pajama-clad Arthur was leading the throng, his arms frozen open in a gesture of celebration turned shock, the jubilant smile fading from his face as he took in the scene before him.

“Merlin’s beard,” he said, stunned, his eyes traveling from the two opposing wand tips to Harry stretched out between them. “What’s going on here?”

Sirius dropped his wand to his side as Snape slowly did the same. Harry was still between them, barely relaxing his body as he glanced back and forth, apparently not yet convinced that the danger had completely passed. Snape shot one last furious look at Sirius, and then thrust his wand back into the depths of his robes, turning and sweeping past the Weasleys and to the door, not looking at a single one of them. He only paused to give one last glance to Harry. “Six o’clock Monday evening, Potter,” he said, before turning back again, and disappearing up the stairs.

There was a short silence while Sirius glared after him. And then—

“But… what’s been going on?” Arthur asked, bewildered, glancing between Sirius and Harry in clear hopes of some sort of explanation.

“Nothing, Arthur,” Sirius said, slowly pocketing his wand, unused adrenaline still thundering through his veins. “Just a friendly little chat between two old school friends…” It seemed to take all his strength to force a smile onto his face as he looked at Arthur, who indeed looked quite healthy despite having been on deaths door nearly one month ago. “So… you’re cured?” He said, putting as much jubilation into his voice as he could manage. “That’s great news, really great.”

Dinner came, and despite Sirius’ best efforts to join in the conversation, he could not help but wish that he was alone in his mother’s room with Buckbeak instead. Everyone was in high spirits around him: Mundungus and Mad-Eye had joined in the meal to celebrate Arthur’s recovery, and Molly was so happy she didn’t even object to the thief’s presence. Fred and George were cackling along with the rest of the kids, and Sirius forced himself more than once to laugh at their jokes, hoping he didn’t sound as hollow as he felt. Every once in a while, he felt Harry’s eyes on him, but he found he did not want to meet them. In fact, even thinking about Harry was causing him enormous amounts of pain— the idea of him being forced into such a vulnerable position with Snape— the fact that there was nothing Sirius could do to help. Did Harry, too, think Sirius a coward? What would James have thought?

As the evening dragged into night, Sirius was thankful that the rest of the house decided to turn in early— Arthur was still a bit tired, and the rest of them had to be up early to make the Hogwarts Express the following day. He mumbled a subdued “goodnight” to the rest of them as he cleared the dishes; Harry seemed to hang back a bit awkwardly for a moment, but if he had something he wanted to say, he seemed to decide against it as Molly ushered him upstairs. Sirius felt a pang deep in his chest as he watched him go.

Remus didn’t get home until a couple hours later— Sirius, who was lying on top of his bed fully clothed, heard him arrive, but it took him a while to ascend the stairs to the bedroom: evidently, he had taken the time to write up a report before retiring to sleep.

When he finally opened the door, Sirius turned expectantly, watching his tired form slump into the room. Remus was in his mid-thirties, but sometimes he walked like an old man, and tonight was one of those instances. He met Sirius’ eyes and frowned, pulling off his scarf and hanging it in the wardrobe.

“I thought you’d be asleep,” Remus said, glancing at his pocket watch.

Sirius shrugged. “How was guard duty?” He asked. And then, before even waiting for an answer, he continued, “Did you hear that Snape is going to be teaching Harry Occlumency?”

Remus looked over at him, eyebrows raised, robes half off. “Is he?”

“So Dumbledore didn’t pre-warn _anyone_ ,” Sirius grumbled. “Good to know.”

“This was Dumbledore’s idea?” Remus pressed.

“Yeah,” Sirius said moodily. “I don’t know what he’s playing at, being all dodgy these past few weeks and then making this decision without even— I mean, really, _Snape_? Is Dumbledore completely mad?”

Remus watched him carefully, and then, slowly pulling his pajamas from the wardrobe, said, “I think it’s absolutely necessary, actually.”

“I’m sorry?” Sirius demanded.

“Sirius,” Remus sighed, looking very tired. “Dumbledore wouldn’t make this decision lightly. Occlumency is an extraordinarily complicated branch of the magical arts—”

“—I _know_ that—”

“—And the fact that he’s assigning these lessons to Harry, during his fifth year no less, when he’s already going to be busy with O.W.L.s— he wouldn’t add more workload to Harry’s plate as a simple precaution. It means he’s worried.”

Sirius ground his teeth, annoyed. “If it weren’t for that stupid dream—”

“—Arthur would be dead, I know,” Remus said, his voice heavy. “But do you _honestly_ not see the immense danger Harry is in, with having such a strong mental link to Voldemort? We have no idea what he is capable of, how he could exploit it!”

“So you think— what— Voldemort possessed Harry and _turned him into a snake_?”

“No of course I— look. If Dumbledore wants Harry to learn Occlumency, then at the very _least_ there is a strong possibility that Voldemort is attempting to gain access to his mind— his thoughts, his memories! Can you imagine the sort of information he could obtain, the influence he could impose, if he were successful?”

“A definitive list of who’s snogging who in the fifth year?” Sirius said dryly. Remus shot him a look of exasperation, and he held up his hands, continuing, “No, I just— of course, that would be horrible! Of course I don’t want Voldemort to be able to spy on Harry, I’m not an idiot, Moony! I just— why Snape?”

“He is a _superb_ Occlumens,” Remus said bluntly. “It doesn’t matter how much you dislike him— the fact remains that he is the most qualified for the job.”

“He hates Harry,” Sirius growled, twisting the blankets with his fist.

“Well, he’s not very fond of me, either,” Remus replied matter-of-factly. “And yet, every month I receive a batch of perfectly brewed Wolfsbane Potion, free of charge.” He sat down on the bed, and then, very quietly, a bit awkwardly, said, “Sirius, I know you don’t like it—”

“Yeah, I _don’t_ like it!” Sirius cried. “Harry’s not a child, he deserves to understand what’s happening to him! Instead, Dumbledore refuses to speak with him, working through Snape of all people, blind-siding him with this rubbish!”

“But that’s just it, isn’t it?” Remus said sadly. “If Dumbledore believes that Voldemort is peering into Harry’s mind, that explains his continued insistence to restrict his access to any sensitive information.”

“But Dumbledore’s been going on about Harry’s mental state since the summer!” Sirius said desperately. “Every meeting he reminded us to keep him in the bloody dark, saying it was for his emotional wellbeing or whatever, but what, all this time, he suspected Voldemort was using him as a bloody fucking spy or some shite? Why wait until now to do something about it?”

“He’ll have his reasons,” Remus said softly. “He always does.”

“Surprised he hasn’t locked Harry away in a broom cupboard,” Sirius said bitterly. “If he really wants to stop Voldemort from seeing anything… and Merlin, you need eye contact to use Legilimency— what, do we think Voldemort will be popping by Gryffindor tower to exchange a longing gaze?”

“I think it’s a bit more complex than that,” Remus sighed. “We all know Voldemort and Harry have a sort of connection that only Dumbledore seems to understand. If he believes Occlumency will protect him, then Harry must learn it. And Snape is uniquely qualified to teach him, Sirius— as a spy, he himself has managed to close off his mind to Voldemort with frankly astonishing success.”

“Isn’t it _just_ as possible that he’s closing his mind and lying to Dumbledore, too?” Sirius demanded.

“Do you really believe Dumbledore wouldn’t have considered that? Sirius, you can question Snape’s motives all you want, but the fact of the matter is, I refuse to believe that Dumbledore would risk Harry’s safety in any way,” Remus said, his voice rising with impatience. “If he had even a shred of doubt regarding Snape’s loyalties, there is absolutely no way he would place Harry in such a vulnerable position.” His eyebrows creased together tightly. “Do I believe these lessons will be in any way pleasant? No, of course not. But if Harry does nothing, there is no telling what Voldemort will be able to do. It is crucial that he learn to protect himself.”

And Sirius thought of Harry in his sleep, screaming out for Cedric, for his parents. He thought of Harry’s face, gray and drenched with sweat, after the Weasleys tumbled into his kitchen the night of Arthur’s attack. And he thought again of Harry in the pantry afterwards, his voice desperate and shaking, talking about how _he_ was the snake, how he had wanted to attack Dumbledore… and Sirius had placed a hand on his shoulder, firmly telling him not to worry…

“You’re right,” Sirius said, his mouth tasting like sand. Remus looked at him, appearing slightly taken aback, but Sirius plunged on. “You’re right, if this’ll help, he needs to do it.” He gripped the blankets tighter in his fists. “I just wish he had a little more bloody say in it all, y’know? I wish we could tell him exactly what was going on. Once he’s at school, we won’t even be able to talk to him with the sodding fires being watched— and if his mind’s being fucked with, too—”

“—I know,” Remus interrupted heavily. “But we can’t risk it, Sirius. At least, not until Harry can completely close himself off. If you want to help protect him— well, this is the way.”

Remus kissed him softly on the cheek, rolled over, and was asleep within minutes. But Sirius stayed awake, staring into the dark, thinking hard. Images of Harry, alone, at the mercy of Snape penetrating into his mind flashed in and out of his brain, having to deal with Umbridge, teaching an entire group of students to rebel in secret. And what, Sirius wouldn’t be able to speak with him, really speak with him, until the summer? He was just supposed to leave him to fend for himself, unaware of what was really going on, every night living in fear that Voldemort might take over his mind the second he closed his eyes? It was bullshit, absolute bullshit, and there had to be a way that Sirius could at least check in with him and make sure he was—

And then, something clicked.

The two-way mirrors.

He nearly sat up in bed— it was so obvious, he couldn’t believe he hadn’t thought about it before— how many times had he and James used them to talk to one another when they were in separate detentions!? Nobody knew they existed, least of all Umbridge— even Remus didn’t know Sirius still had them— wrapped up tightly in the back of the wardrobe—

He felt a wave of relief wash over him. He knew that Remus and Dumbledore probably wouldn’t approve, but Sirius had never been one to follow the rules. He wasn’t a coward, no matter what Snape said, and he wasn’t going to watch from afar as Harry faced unknown horrors hundreds of miles away. He would be there for him. He would _always_ be there for him.

No one had to know.


	27. The Prisoners of Azkaban

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lupin escorts Harry back to Hogwarts, and two days later, the stakes of the oncoming war are raised.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy new year everybody! i have so much love and appreciation for everyone who's stuck with this fic for so long! here's hoping 2021 isn't a dumpster fire.

_January 12th 1995_

_Grimmauld Place, London & Hogsmeade, Scotland_

Remus woke up to the sound of Sirius rummaging around his wardrobe, muttering to himself under his breath. He blinked wearily, sitting up as the covers slid down his chest, and glanced toward the window: the sky was a pale gray, heavy with clouds, which was exactly the sort of weather that usually inspired him to curl up with a cup of tea and a large book. Instead, however, he pulled himself from the warm wool blankets and rose to standing, wincing as his feet hit the frigid wooden floor.

“Sirius,” he said softly. There was an abrupt _thud_ followed by a muttered “Ow,” and Sirius emerged from the wardrobe, fully dressed, wearing a simultaneous expression of grumpiness and shiftiness upon his face.

“‘Morning,” Sirius muttered, shoving something deep into the pocket of his robes. “Good thing you’re up, I think Tonks just got in.”

“Right,” Remus said, eyeing him as carefully as he could as he took his own robes from a nearby hook and began to pull them on. “How’d you sleep?”

“Fine,” Sirius shrugged in a way he probably thought was nonchalant, but sourness wafted around him in waves. “Shall we go on down then?”

They descended down the stairs at a steady pace, walking down towards the faint murmurs of Tonks’, Arthur’s, and Molly’s hushed voices, but as they walked down the third-floor corridor, Remus didn’t miss the way Sirius hesitated in front of Harry’s bedroom door— even if it was hardly a millisecond.

“You know,” Remus said quietly, “I’m sure if you wanted a moment alone with him, he wouldn’t mind being woken—”

“—He needs all the sleep he can get,” Sirius said sharply, his pace speeding up again. “C’mon.”

When they got to the kitchen, Molly and Arthur were already awake, talking in hushed tones to a tall, elderly woman who was gesturing so animatedly that she nearly knocked over a chair—

“Tonks,” Remus said in recognition. The old lady turned and grinned. She had bright blue eyes today, a long nose, and dark gray hair, but the devilish smile was unmistakable— it was a relic of the Black family, and a trait she shared with Sirius.

“Wotcher, Remus,” Tonks chirped, sitting down to the table as Molly placed a steaming bowl of porridge out in front of her.

“You look like a middle-aged McGonagall,” Sirius grumbled, as he and Remus sat down across from her.

“I was going for distinguished, so that’ll do,” Tonks said, shrugging, and she shoveled a spoonful of porridge into her mouth, as Molly handed a second bowl to Remus. “Aging up’s not as fun as it used to be, back when I was sixteen I used it to get Madam Rosmerta to give me a Firewhiskey… she thought I was a seventy-year-old bald bloke…”

“Fake name?” Sirius asked dully, while Molly shot Tonks an exasperated look. 

“Baldwin Badger,” Tonks replied. “Not my best work, but mind you, I think Rosmerta was a bit tipsy at the time…”

“Alright,” Molly said, sounding a bit annoyed, but Remus was happy to see Sirius had shown a shadow of a smile. He couldn’t even count the number of times Sirius and James had tried to trick the Three Broomsticks barmaid into giving them a drink or two, but the resulting successes rounded up to about three.

“Sorry,” Tonks said, grinning shiftily at Molly.

“Just please keep stories like that away from Fred and George,” she sighed. “Knowing them…”

Personally, Remus would have been shocked if the twins had never used an aging potion to get their hands on illegal pranking goods, but he decided to keep that particular thought to himself. He took a bite of porridge, and watched Sirius moodily pour a cup of tea with his wand.

“So,” Tonks said suddenly. “I talked to Mad-Eye this morning— he, of course, told me there was almost a certainty that we’d be attacked—” she had started the sentence jokingly, but then she paused, casting a guilty look towards Arthur. “—But, you know… I’m sure we’ll be fine, the Ministry doesn’t know where Harry is or how he’s getting to Hogwarts, and it’s not like You-Know-Who rides the Knight Bus…”

“It’ll be fine,” Remus affirmed her.

“Unless Stan Shunpike makes a scene,” Tonks rolled her eyes. “Idiot was a few years behind me at Hogwarts, obsessed with whatever news story was on the front page, he’d lose it over this sort of thing…”

Sirius glared at the table, ignoring the bowl of porridge Molly had placed by his elbow as she let out a heavy sigh and said, more to herself than to anyone in particular, “I just hope things will get a bit better for him once he’s back at school…”

“Are you joking?” Sirius muttered. “What’s he got to look forward to besides bloody Quidditch?”

At this, Molly and Arthur shared a very abrupt glance, one that Remus, and apparently, Sirius, did not miss.

“What?” Sirius demanded.

“Has Harry not told you?” Molly asked stiffly. Sirius’ face tightened.

“Well that depends on what you’re talking about,” Sirius answered, speaking through gritted teeth.

“I only assumed— well, Harry, Fred and George were banned from Quidditch back in November,” Molly continued disapprovingly, while Arthur rubbed his neck awkwardly. “We only found out from Ginny— she was made Seeker, you see… I spoke with Minerva, she seemed to think the punishment was entirely unjustified… although I must say, the bright side is they’ll have a bit more time for their studies… what with N.E.W.T.s and O.W.L.s coming up… and Harry, of course, well, he’s been dealing with so much… it might be nice for him to have some space, just to rest…”

Sirius looked ill; Remus knew he was probably thinking about how Harry’s newfound “space” would probably be filled by Occlumency lessons with Snape. Sirius opened his mouth, closed it, and then stopped, clenching his fist around something within his robes.

“Well,” Remus said hurriedly, as Tonks cast him an awkward look, “Harry indeed has a lot to worry about, so let’s try and make this journey as smooth as possible, yes?”

“Right,” Tonks said at once. “And again, everything should be fine, everyone’ll be expecting him to take the train, of course—”

The door opened, revealing Harry himself, along with Ron and Hermione, dressed in Muggle clothes. Tonks quickly stopped talking.

“Hi,” Harry said, as the other two exchanged a glance behind him. “We’re er— ready…”

“Well, sit down and have some breakfast,” Molly said hastily, waving her wand as three bowls zoomed from the cupboard behind her. “It’s nothing special, I’m afraid, but…”

“Have you got any extra sugar, mum?” Ron asked, throwing himself upon one of the free chairs.

“Yes, but don’t use it all, you know Ginny will want some when she gets down…”

Hermione and Harry sat down as well, joined soon after by Ginny and the twins, and Remus watched as Sirius continued to ignore his food, instead staring at Harry with a completely unreadable expression. Harry kept glancing at him as well, but every time their eyes met, Sirius forced a smile. Remus desperately wanted to tell Sirius that there was a very good explanation as to why Harry hadn’t thought to share the details of his Quidditch banning, but he had a feeling that Sirius wouldn’t quite care. He clearly too greatly resented the fact that once Harry left, their communication would have to resort to almost nothing.

Breakfast ended fast, and so Remus was forced to briefly squeeze Sirius’ hand before turning his attention to his former students. He and Tonks herded everyone to the door— Remus was vaguely aware of Sirius pulling Harry aside for a moment or two, and he could only hope that Harry had managed to say something to keep his godfather from tailing them to the Knight Bus. They rejoined the throng, and made it upstairs; Remus was first out the front door, but he did not miss Sirius pulling Harry into a short, but tight, one-armed hug: and although they were clearly trying to hide it, they both looked miserable.

“Come on, the quicker we get on the bus, the better,” Tonks said, once the front door had closed, and the house had disappeared from view. Remus flung out his arm in response, the movement summoning the gigantic, roaring, three-story-tall bus from thin air, which nearly crashed into a lamppost as it pulled to the sidewalk.

A scrawny fellow, about twenty, jumped from the doorway and crowed, “Welcome to the—”

“—Yes, yes, we know, thank you,” Tonks interrupted, annoyed, and Remus almost chuckled at the slightly crestfallen look on the young man’s face. “On, on, get on,” she continued to Harry, shoving him through the door. The conductor’s eyes widened as Harry was shuffled past him.

“‘Ere— it’s ‘Arry—” he started, but Tonks, who was now hustling Hermione and Ginny on board, threatened to curse him, and he promptly closed his mouth. Remus supposed it helped that she was disguised as a rather severe-looking middle-aged woman.

“Looks like we’ll have to split up,” Tonks said, scanning the interior— nearly every mismatched chair was filled with a rather ill-looking someone, and only four chairs were empty, in the back, one of which was lying on its side. **“** Fred, George, and Ginny, if you just take those seats at the back… Remus can stay with you…” Remus nodded at her, and shepherded the three Weasleys to the back while Tonks climbed the stairs to the upper deck with Harry, Ron, and Hermione. Fred and George had a brief tussle over a particularly comfortable looking armchair, which Fred won, leaving his brother to occupy a rickety old rocker. Ginny sat down on a stool, rolling her eyes, as Remus himself eased himself warily down upon a wicker lawn chair.

“Have you ever been on the Knight bus before?” Remus asked seriously,

“Yeah, once,” Fred and George chorused, grinning wickedly. “Don’t worry, we’ll watch out for Ginny—”

_BANG._

The bus lurched forward, jumping to a Birmingham roadway, and both twins were ejected from their seats onto the floor. Ginny smiled down at them were she had remained, perched on her stool, apparently unaffected.

“Would you like a hand?” she asked, very coolly, and as her brothers climbed back onto their seats, Remus fought a laugh.

“Har har,” Fred retorted, rubbing his elbow. “Listen, if you manage to stay on your broom next match, _then_ I’ll be impressed. Here’s hoping you don’t take after ickle Prefect Ronnikins…”

“Don’t remind me,” George groaned. “Without Quidditch, there’s barely a point in coming back…”

“Surely you don’t mean that,” Remus said, thinking of Harry. Fred and George exchanged a look, and both shrugged, but didn’t comment any further.

_BANG._

The bus jumped into a long winding country road, surrounded by hedges, and Stan Shunpike made his way down to collect eleven Sickles from the each of them. Remus pulled out his money bag, emptied it into his palm, and handed over the tiny silver coins, watching them disappear into Stans closed fist.

_BANG._

They catapulted into a busy town, weaving in and out of traffic, narrowly avoiding cars. There was a horrible retching sound from the floor above them, the noise turning George a pale greenish color— and Remus noticed Fred pass him what looked like a brightly colored piece of toffee. He decided not to ask.

_BANG._

They were on a long bridge surrounded by steep hills. Remus turned to Ginny and the twins, a sudden rushing sensation filling him. “I am sorry,” he said, out of the blue, not really knowing what was possessing him to do so, “that you’ve been stuck with such an unfortunate teacher.”

“Who, Snape?” Fred said jokingly. “No worries, we’re used to him.”

Remus’ mouth twitched. “I am not referring to _Professor_ Snape,” he corrected.

“Doesn’t Sirius call him Snivellus?” Ginny piped in, as the twins laughed.

“I will neither confirm nor deny that,” Remus replied lightly.

“Well,” George said, smirking. “It doesn’t matter if the old hag calls herself a teacher or not, because she’s not our only source of learning anymore, is she?” Ginny smiled to herself, and Remus saw Harry’s face in his mind for the hundredth time.

_BANG._

His stomach lurched, but he thought it had less to do with the bus’s erratic movement and more to do with the guilt he was feeling all over again. He should have spent more time talking with Harry over the holidays, but he’d been quite busy with the Order, and he hadn’t wanted to overstep… not to mention, he thought, with another wave of guilt, Sirius had been occupying most of his mind. They were adults, they were Harry’s parents’ best friends— had it been irresponsible of them to be so preoccupied with each other, happy as could be, while Harry was there with them, so clearly miserable? And there was still the fact of the matter that no matter what Remus told Sirius and no matter how much he trusted Dumbledore’s judgement, he had seen firsthand how Severus Snape treated his students, Harry in particular. The two had absolutely no patience with one another, and Sirius’ constant berating about Snape had surely not helped Harry’s outlook on the matter.

And that worried him more than he cared to admit.

_BANG._

They were in Hogsmeade, surrounded on both sides by gigantic piles of snow, snowflakes dancing through the air and pattering against the windows. Remus stared out the window as they rolled down the frozen street. Every inch of this town was a different memory, and a fresh layer of snow did nothing to cover them.

And then, a few minutes later, they were rolling up to the castle.

Remus felt his throat constrict. The last time he’d been here, he’d resigned from his post as Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher.

“Alright, then,” he sighed, standing and picking up one end of Ginny’s trunk. “Let’s go.”

Tonks, Harry, Ron, and Hermione descended from the upper level to join them on the snow outside, and as they went, the other passengers nudged each other, whispering and pointing at the visible scar on Harry’s forehead, brought into view by the light wind pushing back his hair. “

“You’ll be safe once you’re in the grounds,” Tonks muttered, her wand out, looking up and down the empty road. She turned to the kids and forced a cheery smile. “Have a good term, okay?” She said, squeezing Ginny’s shoulder.

Remus firmly shook each of their hands, going down the line, making sure Harry was the last. When he reached Harry, he held onto his hand a little tighter, and for a little longer than the rest.

“Harry,” he said, in a low voice, talking as fast as he could before he lost his nerve. “I know you don’t like Snape, but he is a superb Occlumens and we all—” he paused and emphasized, “ _Sirius included_ — want you to learn to protect yourself.” His throat got even tighter, but he maintained eye contact and finished, “So… work hard, alright?”

Harry looked back at him, tired and resigned. “Yeah, alright,” he said heavily. “See you, then…”

Remus squeezed his hand and let go, watching with Tonks as the six of them disappeared through the cast iron gate and headed towards the castle. And as Remus watched Harry disappear from view, he wished with all his might he was going with him.

“What’s wrong?” Tonks asked. Remus shook his head.

“Nothing,” he said. “Just, it’s… difficult… to be in school during a war.”

“Yeah,” Tonks muttered. “I guess you’d know.”

Remus simply nodded.

 _BANG._ The Knight Bus disappeared.

“Well, I’ve got to go into work,” Tonks sighed, after a long silence. “Hey, er— tell Sirius they got here safe, yeah? He seemed— he was in a really foul mood this morning.”

“Oh,” Remus said. “Right, well… I’m sure it was just…”

“Everything?” Tonks finished for him, smiling wryly. Remus nodded again. Tonks sighed. “My father always does this thing where he keeps trying to look for silver linings.”

“Does he ever find any?” Remus asked, his voice quiet.

“Sometimes,” Tonks said seriously. “But it’s been hard, lately, I think. Everything with Arthur…” she looked around anxiously, and then continued in a lower voice, “I feel like we’re all just _waiting_ for something else to happen, y’know?”

— -

_January 14th 1995_

_12 Grimmauld Place, London, England_

Remus woke up to the sound of a small explosion.

Toppling out of bed in horror, he scrambled about the sheets— nobody was in bed with him— he reached over to the nightstand and snatched his wand, still half-asleep, his heart pounding in his throat.

“Sirius?” He called, his voice thick with sleep, before immediately cursing himself for making his presence known— if there was an intruder in the house he had now alerted them—

Walburga Black began to shriek from her portrait. Another explosion, and then Sirius’ own furious, rage-filled shouting.

He tore out of the bedroom and nearly flattened Kreacher, who had appeared with a loud _CRACK_ in the hallway. He was laughing gleefully, almost maliciously, and wringing his hands together. Barely registering this, however, Remus hurried past him, down the stairs, wand aloft, and entered the main hallway, where Sirius was, red in the face, now yelling at his mother.

“FILTH! SCUM! ABSOLUTE DISHONOR OF MY FLESH, PARASITE OF MY WOMB—”

“I WISH YOU WEREN’T DEAD SO I COULD KILL YOU MYSELF YOU EVIL PIECE OF—”

“ _SIRIUS!_ ” Remus shouted, waving the curtains shut with his wand, silencing Walburga in an instant. “What in Merlin’s name is going _on_!?”

Sirius held up a copy of the morning’s _Daily Prophet_ and practically hurled it at him. Blinking the sleep from his eyes, Remus looked at the front page. Ten evil, gaunt faces looked back at him, their eyes hollow, their mouths stretched open into silent, delirious laughter…

> **_MASS BREAKOUT FROM AZKABAN_ **
> 
> **_MINISTRY FEARS BLACK IS “RALLYING POINT” FOR OLD DEATH EATERS_ **

Remus felt his heart sink into his stomach. “This morning?” He barely whispered.

“Just read it!” Sirius barked, kicking the wall. His mother’s curtains fluttered, but did not open. Remus tore his eyes from the smirking faces to find the print: barely two paragraphs, it was short but straightforward.

> **_The Ministry of Magic announced late last night that there has been a mass breakout from Azkaban. Speaking to reporters in his private office, Cornelius Fudge, Minister of Magic, confirmed that ten high-security prisoners escaped in the early hours of yesterday evening, and that he has already informed the Muggle Prime Minister of the dangerous nature of these individuals._ ** ****
> 
> **_“We find ourselves, most unfortunately, in the same position we were two and a half years ago when the murderer Sirius Black escaped,” said Fudge last night. “Nor do we think the two breakouts are unrelated. An escape of this magnitude suggests outside help, and we must remember that Black, as the first person ever to break out of Azkaban, would be ideally placed to help others follow in his footsteps. We think it likely that these individuals, who include Black’s cousin, Bellatrix Lestrange, have rallied around Black as their leader. We are, however, doing all we can to round up the criminals and beg the magical community to remain alert and cautious. On no account should any of these individuals be approached.”_ **

Remus looked up, and Sirius exploded.

“You know, if my mother would stop screaming for five seconds and read this, she’d actually be overcome with pride!” Sirius’ voice was very high and tinged with hilarity. “She was _ever_ so fond of dear Bellatrix, and to think, I’m credited as her ‘rallying point,’ the golden fucking standard for Azkaban prison breaks!” He looked quite deranged, his haunting, shadowy eyes mirroring so many of the ones leering up at them from the paper.

“ _Early_ yesterday evening?” Remus murmured, scanning the article. “How did we not hear about this sooner— Kingsley, Arthur, Tonks— unless none of them were working—?”

“I don’t know Moony, maybe because you were with me, and nobody seems to be telling me _anything_ , do they!?” Sirius spat.

And then, as if answering his accusation, a silver phoenix flew into the hallway. It opened its beak, and Dumbledore’s voice, edged with sleep, echoed throughout the hall.

_“Your presence is requested tonight at 10 o’clock for an emergency convening of the Order of the Phoenix.”_

“WELL, YOU BET I’LL BE THERE,” Sirius roared at the Patronus. “IT’S MY BLOODY HOUSE, INNIT!? IT’S NOT LIKE I’VE GOT ANYWHERE ELSE TO G—”

“Sirius!” Remus said forcefully, putting a hand on his shoulder. The bird dissolved, and Sirius rounded on him.

“What?” He demanded.

“I’m sorry,” Remus said. Sirius stared at him.

“What, you’re not going to tell me to calm down?” He accused.

“Well, I don’t think yelling at a Patronus is going to get you anywhere,” Remus said carefully. “But…”

“But?”

“But… I’m sorry,” Remus said. “This is…” he looked back down at the paper. “This is horrible.”

Sirius growled. “Harry’s been at Hogwarts all of two days and half of Azkaban blasts open—”

“—And no matter how capable a wizard you are, you cannot single handedly locate and take them all down by yourself!” Remus interjected, his own voice rising. “All we know is what is written in this article, which is to say we know next to nothing! We need to wait for tonight, to get a full scope of the situation!” He hesitated, and then added, “Dumbledore owes you that much.”

Sirius scowled, but didn’t argue. And when Remus figured it was safe to lean in and kiss him, he responded.

By the time ten o’ clock rolled around, Sirius had managed to pace the entire house what felt like several hundred times. Or at least, that’s what it felt like to Remus, who had taken on the responsibility of making sure he didn’t storm right out of the front door. There had been a few tenuous moments, including one in which Kreacher stole the front page of the _Daily Prophet_ and tried to frame Bellatrix’s screaming photo, but luckily the thirst for information seemed to be overpowering Sirius’ need for immediate vengeance on every Death Eater who had escaped the island prison.

It seemed like everyone who could attend the meeting, did. Lavanya Patil had apparently managed to steal away from her tutoring post: she was sitting straight up in her chair, and Remus thought it was the only time he had ever seen her without a laughing grin on her face. Hamza Rasheed, Patricia Glenn, Gregor Wright, Adrian Pine, and Charlie Weasley were all there as well, back from abroad for the meeting only. Molly and Arthur Weasley were sitting hand in hand, both of their faces drawn and set— Molly was absentmindedly patting her eldest son’s shoulder, and Arthur was murmuring to Dedalus Diggle, who was playing nervously with his hat. Emmeline Vance’s eyes were alert, flashing at every noise. Elphias Doge was staring into space, looking at nothing; Mundungus was so drunk he looked borderline dead. Bill and Hestia were muttering with each other, and Snape and Dumbledore seemed to be exchanging entire conversations with their eyes. Mad-Eye looked like he was ready to blow a gasket, both eyes darting suspiciously around the room, muttering protection spells under his breath, vetting everyone in his vicinity for imposters.

But Remus’ eyes sought Kingsley and Tonks, and he found them, slumped in their seats, dark circles under their exhausted, bloodshot eyes. He and Sirius slid into the empty spots next to them; Tonks looked over as they sat, and tried to smile.

“Wotcher,” she muttered, and her voice sounded thin. Her hair was a mousy brown color, and her eyes were a sharp gray, the same shade as Sirius’— Remus realized with a small start that this was probably her actual, natural appearance. Kingsley was unshaven and still wearing his, now slightly rumpled, Auror’s robes. He was rubbing his earring absentmindedly, and only stopped when Dumbledore cleared his throat.

“Good evening. I know it was not easy for many of you to return tonight, on such short notice,” Dumbledore said, inclining his head towards those who’d been abroad. “Hagrid extends his good wishes to all— he cannot be with us, as he is being closely watched by Dolores Umbridge. Minerva is watching over the school. She, too, sends her regards.”

Only silence greeted his words, but Dumbledore did not react in a way that suggested he expected anything more. Instead, he continued on.

“As you know, yesterday evening, ten of Voldemort’s followers broke free from Azkaban,” he said, and his voice was serious but steady. “This event was not unexpected, of course, as Severus long ago informed us that this has been one of Voldemort’s primary goals for several months now. Many of you know that ever since last summer, I have been imploring Cornelius to relieve the dementors of their duties. He has continued to ignore such warnings, against any and all evidence. One would hope that last night’s events would have swayed him, but it seems, at least publicly, that is not the case.” He turned to Kingsley and Tonks. “I am wondering, then, if his story is holding ground within Ministry walls.”

Tonks and Kingsley exchanged a look. “Well,” Tonks began, blinking blearily. “We’ve both been up since last night. We’ve obviously never seen anything like— well, there’s never been a mass breakout, has there? So Fudge obviously had Scrimgeour call everyone in, including some trainees— it was chaos— and we’ve been working twenty-four hours straight to try and find them… I’ve been all over the bloody continent…”

“Lucky,” Sirius muttered, barely perceptible— Remus shot him an admonishing look and he merely scowled in response.

“…But obviously, we haven’t found any of them yet,” Tonks continued, rubbing her eyes. “They sent some of us home in staggered shifts to get some rest, so I’ve got to go back in, like, three hours…” she yawned. “They’re being really vague— to all the Junior Aurors, at least— about how exactly it happened. The mechanism, I mean. They just want us to focus on finding them and bringing them back.”

Dumbledore nodded, and then said, “Kingsley?”

“Scrimgeour is not a fool,” Kingsley said. “As Head of the Auror office, he knows Azkaban better than everyone, except the prisoners and dementors themselves. Even though he has not spoken it aloud, he knows it wouldn’t be possible for ten prisoners to break free in a coordinated manner such as this if the dementors were doing their jobs.” He cleared his throat and addressed the room at large. “I was one of the first on the scene after the breakout occurred. Access was highly restricted— Fudge only allowed Scrimgeour and I onto the island. The dementors had not been the ones to sound the alarm— we questioned dozens of prisoners and they all said the same thing: the dementors had been avoiding the escapees’ cells for weeks. And last night, they simply walked out of the prison. The dementors did not stop them.”

Remus’ stomach felt like lead. Harry’s scared, thirteen-year-old, tear streaked face flashed through his mind. And then, Sirius stiffened beside him, and Remus’ stomach felt even heavier: Sirius’ face was ashen and shiny, as if the dementors themselves were in the room with them. Remus automatically reached out and clutched his hand: it was clammy, and Sirius jumped at the touch, but did not let go. Every eye remained on Kingsley.

“Fudge was beside himself. We made a list of all the missing prisoners, and when he saw Bellatrix Lestrange’s name, well, I could see his mind jump to something easier to grasp— you see, he realized that Lestrange and Sirius were cousins, and it was too much of a coincidence that they had both been able to escape an inescapable prison. And Sirius here had managed to leave the island undetected, so, Fudge said, it only made sense that he had come back to break out a member of his own family…”

“Did you mention that I’m not even supposed to leave my own house?” Sirius snapped, red-faced, pulling his hand away from Remus’ in his anger. The movement evaded all eyes except Snape’s, whose eyebrows shot up— his dark eyes narrowed in something that may have been recognition, or realization, but Remus didn’t have a moment to read him, for Kingsley had started to speak again, addressing Sirius.

“I decided that revealing my allegiances to the person I’m supposed to be hunting down may not be the smartest decision, actually,” Kingsley said evenly, and then added, his voice suddenly intensely sincere, “I am, however, deeply sorry.”

Sirius just shrugged him off, glaring at the table, his cheeks still pink as everyone stared at him.

“Well, she’s also my aunt, so I’m surprised they didn’t pin it on me, too,” Tonks said, clearly putting all of her remaining energy into making even the feeblest of jokes. “What, no theories about an inside job?”

“Don’t give ol’ Fudge any ideas,” Moody growled furiously, looking like he had half a mind to smack her across the head. “Think you’re being funny? You’re just asking to be chucked in prison with Sturgis, and then we’ll be down another body!”

“Nice to know you care about my wellbeing, Mad-Eye,” Tonks said sarcastically, but the effect was ruined by the fact that she looked like she was about to pass out from tiredness.

“Did you see Sturgis, Kingsley?” Emmeline said suddenly, her jaw tight. “While you were there?”

“I did,” Kingsley said heavily. “He’s still alive.”

His tone made it pretty clear that they hadn’t been able to exchange very many words. Emmeline did not press for more information, and the mood of the room, which was already low, seemed to drop even farther.

“Thank you, Kingsley,” Dumbledore said, after a loaded pause, and then he turned to his left. “Severus, if you have any information on your end that you feel pertinent to share, please do so.”

Snape nodded his head in affirmation, and said, in a voice devoid of any emotion, “The Aurors are wasting their time. All ten of the escaped Death Eaters have already been reunited with the Dark Lord.”

“Oh, and did you attend the welcome back party, then?” Sirius asked loudly, causing Dumbledore to shoot him a sharp look. “If you know where they are, why are we even having this bloody meeting? Why aren’t we going for them right now?” A few people at the table murmured in agreement, and Snape’s lip curled.

“The Dark Lord is far more powerful than you could even hope to comprehend, Black,” he said coldly. “Do you really believe for a moment he would risk their re-capture right now? They are being concealed by the most powerful of spells— even I am not aware of their exact location at the moment, nor could I share said information if I was.”

“Very helpful,” Sirius retorted sarcastically. Snape’s eyes flashed, but Dumbledore interfered before he had a chance to respond.

“With this objective fulfilled, it is a near certainty that he will be focusing even more of his efforts on recovering the prophecy,” Dumbledore said. “If anyone read past the front page this morning, you may have seen that Broderick Bode of the Department of Mysteries was murdered in his bed at St. Mungo’s. Bode, as you may recall, was apparently injured in a workplace incident a few weeks back. But,” he looked hard at Snape, “I very much assumed it was no accident.”

“One moment,” Arthur said, looking horrified. “There were no signs of the Imperius Curse on Bode when he was admitted, you said that!”

“Correct,” Dumbledore said heavily. “But very powerful magic can lift the Imperius Curse, for example, the magic protecting the surface of a prophecy.”

There was a long, horrible silence, in which Remus knew they were all thinking the same thing: they had been on the lookout for Death Eaters, they had been vetting each other— but the entire time, Unspeakables had strut in and out of the Department of Mysteries without interference.

“Excuse me,” Emmeline said, her voice high, “But Snape, did you have no prior knowledge of this?”

“Knowledge of what, pray tell?” Snape replied, his voice very controlled.

“Well,” Emmeline said straightforwardly, “You once said that it was highly probable that Malfoy would use the Imperius Curse within the Ministry. If Dumbledore is correct in his assumptions, which we know he very often is, Bode was Imperiused and forced to attempt to remove the prophecy.”

“An assumption I would agree with,” Snape said, smiling thinly.

“And, if I am correct in making my own assumption, this would seem to be a response to Sturgis’ retrieval failure,” Emmeline continued. “And I’m simply wondering— did Malfoy not share his plans with you?”

Sirius leaned forward, looking at Emmeline with intensity firing in his eyes.

“He did not,” Snape said, just as coolly. “As you know, I have been teaching at Hogwarts full time; I am not privy to the passing whim of every Death Eater. I assure you, had I known Bode were in any way being targeted, he would still be alive today.”

Emmeline stared at him, her face completely impassive.

“Severus,” Dumbledore said softly. “Has Voldemort finally realized then, that only the subjects of a prophecy are able to remove it?”

“Not yet,” Snape responded, his eyes lingering on Emmeline, flickering with dislike. “But it is only a matter of time.” He tore his gaze from Emmeline, and gave Dumbledore a significant look; Dumbledore’s face seemed to fall.

“I see,” he said quietly.

“Is Harry in danger?” Molly blurted. “I mean— I know he’s— he’s _always_ in danger, but…”

“Yes,” Dumbledore said simply. “He is. If Severus is right, Voldemort is on track to realizing that only he and Harry have the ability to remove the prophecy from its shelf. And, seeing as Voldemort himself is doing everything he can to evade detection, it is an absolute certainty that instead of retrieving it himself, he will attempt to… _influence_ Harry into doing it in his stead.”

“Influence?” Molly said, her voice shaking. “How? Like— like he did with Ginny?”

“What?” Tonks exclaimed, staring at her, bewildered out of her sleepiness. “Did with— what?”

“That was a very different set of circumstances, Molly,” Dumbledore said quietly, as the rest of the table exchanged startled and curious looks. “I will spare you all the details, for I presume it would leave you with more questions than answers. But rest assured, we are doing all that we can to give Harry the tools to protect himself.”

“What if these _tools_ aren’t enough?” Moody growled suspiciously.

“They’ll have to be,” Dumbledore said, with great finality, and Remus saw something in Dumbledore’s eyes that he rarely ever saw: fear. “We will continue to guard the prophecy, but I’d like to do shifts in doubles when possible. Your reports will include the name of every employee who crosses your path. We will also increase the number of watchful eyes in and around Hogsmeade. Those of you who are returning abroad, use this breakout to your advantage— it is possible that foreign governments, with more objectivity, won’t be able to write it off as easily as Cornelius did. Keep an eye out for each other and yourselves, protect your homes, and verify any news you hear. Thank you all.”

Everyone rose to their feet, muttering with each other, determined, afraid, confused. Mundungus keeled over as soon as he stood up, and poor Tonks nearly tripped over him as she staggered exhaustedly to the door. Remus watched her go, wondering if he should escort her to the front door to avoid another incident with the troll leg umbrella stand, but he was distracted by Sirius, who was suddenly making a beeline for Dumbledore and Snape, as if about to strike them both down. Remus strode over as fast as he could without running, but Sirius stopped short a few inches away, breathing heavily.

“See here, Dumbledore,” he growled under his breath, as the last of the Order members left through the kitchen door. “I get that some things are need-to-know or whatever, but when it comes to Harry— I want answers, real ones. None of this vague rubbish you’re spewing to the rest of the Order, okay?”

“Sirius,” Remus muttered awkwardly, but Sirius ignored him— he was on a roll.

“I noticed you neglected to mention Snape’s secret little lesson plans to everyone, but _I_ know about them, whether you like it or not,” he said, his voice rising now that they were alone. “I’m Harry’s _godfather,_ I’m responsible for his wellbeing, and you— you need to tell me exactly what is going on!”

“Actually,” Dumbledore said, his voice quiet, but still managing to overpower the derisive noise Snape made in response, “I was about to ask you if you had a moment to stay behind, for that exact purpose.”

“That’s right!” Sirius snarled. “I— what?”

“I owe you an explanation,” Dumbledore said. “And Severus too, has information to share with me, that I believe you may want to hear.”

“…Oh,” Sirius said, slightly deflated, as if he had been actually looking forward to getting into a good yelling match. “Well— well, yes, good. I mean, it’s about time.”

There was a short pause.

“Well,” Remus muttered, feeling intensely uncomfortable. He took a step away. “I— I’ll let you discuss, then— I’ll go see everyone out—”

“—Don’t be a prat,” Sirius interrupted, grabbing the collar of his robes and pulling him back, “You have every right to hear this, too.” He glared at Dumbledore and Snape, as if daring them to argue, and Remus felt the blood rush to his face as Snape’s eyes narrowed.

“But of course,” Dumbledore said, and he waved his wand, pulling two chairs out across the table from him and Snape. “Please, sit. Both of you.”

Remus had to be forced into his seat by Sirius, who had maintained a grip on his robes and was now shoulder to shoulder with him, leaning forward intently, eyeing Dumbledore and Snape with rippling layers of suspicion. Remus did not like the way Snape was looking back, lip curling, but Dumbledore seemed perfectly at ease, if a little somber.

“So, then,” Sirius said, drumming his fingers on the tabletop. “Occlumency.” He nudged Remus’ shoulder. “Remus here seems to think you’d only make him learn it if it was a matter of life and death or whatever.”

That wasn’t exactly how Remus remembered phrasing it, personally, but he remained silent.

Dumbledore sighed. “It is indeed— or it needs to be, Harry’s highest priority.”

“But why now?” Sirius asked impatiently. “Why hasn’t he been learning it from the start? And why are you keeping it this big secret?”

“Use common sense, Black,” Snape sneered. “The fewer people who know, the less chance information will leak. How do you think the public would react if they knew Potter’s mind was vulnerable to The Dark Lord?”

“Probably not at all, considering the entire public thinks your _Dark Lord_ is still pushing daisies in hell,” Sirius retorted. Dumbledore held up a hand.

“I have been wary of Harry’s connection to Voldemort for some time,” he said quietly. “It has been there ever since the killing curse originally backfired, and has gone through many shifts since then— strengthening as Voldemort returned to power, and—”

“Hang on,” Sirius interrupted, looking ill. “The blood, he took Harry’s blood.”

Remus felt his pulse skip. He remembered, Sirius telling him, what felt like a million years ago, of the ritual in the graveyard…

“They share many things,” Dumbledore said, a bit cryptically, Remus thought. “But access to one another’s thoughts and feelings… well, that is one of the most personal, and dangerous connections of them all.”

And Remus realized that his suspicions had been correct. “You’re worried that Voldemort will use this to gain access to the Order.”

“Yes,” Dumbledore said. “If Harry was able to see through the snake’s eyes, it is a near certainty that Voldemort is able to do the same to him. Perhaps, for now, only in dreams. But he is a powerful wizard, and a highly accomplished Legilimens, and I fear that if Harry does not learn to defend his mind, Voldemort could go far beyond that. He could implant false beliefs and visions, he could place doubts and fears, he could use Harry’s emotions against him.” He closed his eyes, paused, and continued, “And despite my assurances to Molly, if we do nothing to prevent it, there is a very real possibility of possession.”

Sirius turned a nasty grayish color. Snape’s lips were pressed into a very tight line. Remus had expected this, but it didn’t make hearing the words aloud— from Dumbledore himself— any easier.

“It is because of this fact that I have been forced to distance myself from him,” Dumbledore continued, and suddenly, he looked older and sadder than Remus had seen him look in a long time. “I fear what he might do to Harry if he knows how close we are… and how much I care for him. If he thought he could gain access to me through Harry, there is no telling the lengths to which he would go to penetrate his mind.”

“That’s what Remus said,” Sirius mumbled.

“Very astute,” Dumbledore said, his bright blue eyes sliding to Remus’ face. “I see I should have confided in you long before now.”

“Well,” Snape said silkily. “No time lost, as it seems as though Black has been filling him in well enough.”

“ _Well_ ,” Sirius barked, “It’s because Remus has experience in giving Harry private lessons, doesn’t he? Patronus at the age of thirteen! Almost unheard of! Snape, even _you_ can’t produce one, can you?”

Snape’s face went white with fury, and Remus was momentarily distracted by the fact that he _had_ never seen Snape produce a corporeal Patronus, which, given how magically talented he was, was a bit surprising. But then again, perhaps he could, and its form was something he was ashamed of. Remus could relate to that. Or… or perhaps, he simply didn’t have a happy enough memory to conjure one.

“If we could remain _focused_ ,” Dumbledore said, his voice rising impatiently, but Snape leaned forward so that his face was nearly a foot from Sirius’.

“The teaching of Occlumency isn’t as simple as practicing a spell over and over,” Snape hissed. “It takes immense, constant, taxing discipline. One must learn to completely control their emotions, their every thought, their every fear— those who are slave to their feelings are easy prey. Weak… corruptible.”

“You must be a wonderful teacher,” Sirius spat.

“ _Sirius_ ,” Remus breathed.

“Enough,” Dumbledore said, and he sounded close to anger now. “Might I remind you that we are _all_ full invested in Harry’s safely, that we are _all_ doing everything in our power to protect him.” He turned to Sirius, his eyes flashing. “I must return to Hogwarts soon, so if you would like to hear how Harry’s first lesson progressed, as I do, then I implore you to listen to Severus. If you do not wish to do so, then the two of us shall leave, and continue this conversation within the castle walls.”

“We’re listening,” Remus said firmly, before Sirius could say anything, and Snape smirked again.

“Thank you,” Dumbledore replied. He inclined his head to his right. “Severus?”

“Unsurprisingly, all that I just said rings true for Potter,” Snape said in a silky voice. “He is easily provoked by his own memories, and due to his inability to block me mentally, he resorted to his wand. I did not expect much progress within a single lesson, but… I did find something… troubling.” The sneering tone left his voice as he looked towards Dumbledore and continued, “He’s been dreaming of the Department of Mysteries.”

“He said that?” Dumbledore asked sharply. “This is apart from the experience with Arthur Weasley?”

“I saw the corridor. He said he’d been dreaming about it for months,” Snape said. “And that he believes the Dark Lord… ‘wants something…’ from it.”

“The prophecy,” Remus said, a bit unnerved.

“And what did you tell him?” Dumbledore said softly.

“That whatever lies in the Department of Mysteries is irrelevant, and none of his concern,” Snape said smoothly. Remus nearly snorted— he _highly_ doubted that this had convinced Harry of anything: in fact, Snape’s response had probably piqued his curiosity rather than deterring it.

“Why can’t we just _tell him the truth_!?” Sirius exclaimed furiously. “We don’t have to tell him _what_ Voldemort’s looking for, but can’t we just say that it’s a dangerous weapon of some sort that he should bloody well stay away from!?”

Dumbledore looked at him, faint evidence of a sparkle in his eye. “You know Harry better than anyone,” he said, almost smiling. “Do you really think that he’d be satisfied by that answer? When he was merely eleven, and discovered that someone was after Philosopher’s Stone, he went after it himself, despite the fact that I had declared the third-floor corridor off-limits to students, despite the very clear danger he knew it presented. When he was twelve, the Chamber of Secrets was re-opened— he was immediately drawn to the mystery— and then he uncovered its location and delved into its depths, facing a basilisk head on to save his best friend’s sister.”

Sirius stared at him, looking slightly shocked. Remus himself had not realized the extent of Harry’s involvement in those two incidences: he could not have formed words had he wanted to. Snape on the other hand, looked like he was keeping himself from rolling his eyes with immense difficulty.

“Harry possesses a specific combination of qualities that many a Gryffindor has had,” Dumbledore continued. “A fierce sense of curiosity, a strong desire to protect others, and bravery without bounds. The more Harry learns about the Department of Mysteries, whether from us, or from his dreams, the more he will be drawn to it. I cannot give him the information he desires, for anything he knows, Voldemort may have access to. So, Harry will go elsewhere for information— the dreams themselves. This is exactly what Voldemort wants— he wants their desires to align— he wants Harry to open his mind, which is, of course, the absolute most dangerous thing he can do. Severus was correct to downplay the dreams’ importance: if Harry does not yearn for them, he will be more greatly motivated to block future visions from his mind.” He adjusted his half-moon spectacles and looked between the pair of them. “I know how deeply you both care for Harry. Severus will be reporting to me on his progress, and I assure you, I will inform you of anything I believe you should know. Do you have any more questions?”

Remus side-eyed Sirius, just _waiting_ for him to demand to somehow personally sit in on the Occlumency lessons, but instead he just shrugged, glaring at Snape.

“Remus?” Dumbledore asked.

“No, I don’t believe I do,” Remus said softly, and his tumbling mind was paused only by the sound of the shifting of floorboards outside the door and quiet muttering.

“How is Kreacher?” Dumbledore asked suddenly. Sirius shot him a look of absolute disbelief.

“He’s right peachy,” He growled with hatred, after a pause. “Still celebrating the breakout, I reckon.”

“Ah,” Dumbledore said, and then completely seriously, “Do give him my regards.” He stood up, “Well, we must be off. I do hope the next time we meet, it is under happier circumstances.”

Dumbledore and Snape swept from the room, and it was only once they heard the faint far-off _crack_ of them Disapperating that Remus turned to Sirius.

“Well?” Remus asked quietly.

“Snape better do a bloody fucking _perfect_ job teaching him,” Sirius growled, kicking one of the table legs in frustration. “I swear to Merlin… if Harry…” but he didn’t finish the thought, whatever it was.

That night, as Remus lay in the dark, Sirius wrapped around him, Remus thought about what Snape had said: Occlumency being particularly hard for those who were, in Snape’s words “slaves to their feelings”… He shifted in the sheets, uncomfortably— Harry wasn’t exactly brilliant at keeping his emotions at bay… in that way, he was just like his father _and_ his godfather…

But really, Remus thought angrily, how could he be expected to do so in a time like this? With ten death eaters roaming free, with confusing visions in his head, with the entire Wizarding World turned against him… and now, the dementors, the beings Harry feared most in the world, almost officially switching allegiances… it seems like ages since he had watched Harry, Hermione, and the Weasleys trudge up from the Knight Bus into the castle grounds, even though it was merely two days ago. 

“Sirius,” he said quietly.

“Mmm?” Sirius grunted sleepily.

“You aren’t going to do anything stupid once I fall asleep, are you?”

A brief silence. And then “…Define stupid."

“Very comforting,” Remus said flatly.

“Seriously, Moony?” Sirius growled into his pillow. “No, I’m not going to sneak off in the middle of the night to hunt down Bellatrix… or murder Snivellus.” He paused again and added, “At least, not until he finishes Harry’s lessons.”

“I suppose that’s the most that I can ask for,” Remus sighed.

“Y’know, it’s a right shame the dementors didn’t develop a soft spot for Death Eaters a couple years earlier,” Sirius mumbled. “I could’ve gotten out ages ago.”

It was clearly meant to be a sort of joke, but there wasn’t enough humor in his sleep-masked voice to deliver it. So, Remus decided not to say anything, and instead kissed him, pulling him closer, holding him tighter, just in case— as if that would be a surefire way to keep him from hopping on Buckbeak and riding off into the dark, cloudy sky.


	28. Confined to Dancing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sirius & Remus celebrate Valentine's Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> had to throw in some happy breathing room before the waves of frustration and pain crash upon us!!

_February 14th, 1996_

_12 Grimmauld Place, London_

Sirius had always had a reputation in one way or another. Sure, at the moment it was as a Voldemort-loving mass-murderer, but it hadn’t always been _that_ dramatic. Then again, back in school, everything had _felt_ that dramatic.

As they moved through their years at Hogwarts, girls had paid more and more attention to him. He, of course, didn’t really care for them in the slightest— at least, not in the way they wanted him to. And, somehow, his complete lack of interest was interpreted as him being “too cool for romance.”

This was, of course, completely false. Sirius loved romance, just not with any of the giggling girls that hung around after his Quidditch games. So while rumors passed about him being an elusive bad boy who led girls on and couldn’t commit, he’d be crawling through the garden by Hagrid’s hut, searching for the least-deadly flower to hide in Remus’ book bag.

And once the news of Sirius and Remus’ relationship became public, those rumors started up again— how had shy, unassuming, bookish Remus managed to tame Sirius’ wild ways?

_“If they only knew about your furry little problem, Moons,” James had scoffed one morning over breakfast. “Then they’d know who really needs a good taming…”_

_“Every night, I pray you lose the power of speech,” Remus had responded._

New rumors had cropped up—the best one being that Sirius was cheating on Remus with James; it died quite fast, however, because James himself had too much fun with it, calling Sirius “snookums” and “sweet-heart” loudly and obviously over meals and between classes. It was only when James referred to Sirius as his “forbidden sugarnewt” halfway through a Transfiguration lesson that McGonagall snapped and docked ten points from Gryffindor, and the rumor faded away into a forgotten joke.

Sirius had always been the more outwardly romantic one, which was truly fine by him. Nothing gave him a bigger thrill than stuffing a bouquet of singing Valentines hearts into Remus’ arms in the middle of the crowded hall and watching his face surpass pink and plunge straight into scarlet, as he muttered a quiet, “ _Bloody_ hell, Padfoot.”

The last time Sirius had spent a Valentine’s Day at Grimmauld Place, he’d been eleven years old, and his parents had given him the talk about how important it was that he eventually marry a member of the Sacred 28, so that the bloodline remained pure, and how any of the girls he’d been allowed to play with growing up would all make fine choices down the line.

Of course, all of those girls had ended up in Slytherin, and Sirius had ended up liking boys— well, one boy in particular. And now, that boy was a man, and they were— well, together again, here— on Valentine's Day— or at least they would be if…

“ _I have guard duty tomorrow morning.”_

_“Superb.”_

_“I’ll have you know, that I_ did _try to switch around with someone to take the whole day off. I mean, I know how much you like— or liked, at least, when we were— well, I figured I’d at least take the morning shift, and so we’d have the evening free.”_

_“Why Moony… tomorrow’s Valentine’s Day.”_

_“Well, yes, that’s why—”_

_“And you’re just, what, assuming that you’ll be spending such a sacred evening with me?”_

_“I spend every evening with you, unfortunately.”_

_“Not every evening.”_

_“The wolf can be a blessing sometimes.”_

Sirius had laughed, and told him it wasn’t a problem, because really, it wasn’t. To be honest, he was surprised that Remus had thought ahead about it, and personally would’ve killed to see Remus trying to explain to Dumbledore why he needed to have his Valentine’s Day night free.

No, really, the problem was that Sirius wanted to throw on a pair of his most revealing dress robes and take Remus out on the town. He wanted to go to a nice restaurant and spend fifty Galleons on a rare steak and chocolate liqueur and watch Remus get slightly tipsy in his seat. He wanted them to walk through Hogsmeade, hand in hand, and then have Remus yank him into a side alley and kiss him so fiercely that he’d see spots— only to immediately compose himself and pull him back onto the path, smirking, to continue their stroll.

But he couldn’t do that.

And it wasn’t like Remus would ever let him spend that much money on a dinner, anyways. It was all a fantasy of sorts: their relationship only existed, only could exist, in this safe little bubble, private. And, fuck, maybe that’s the only way it worked. For hadn’t things slowly but surely started to fall apart once they left Hogwarts? Once they went into the real world, wasn’t it all _too_ real? It didn’t matter that Remus was a werewolf within the walls and doors of Grimmauld Place, but it mattered out there, to Remus at least, still, even after all this time, even though Sirius himself didn’t give a bloody damn—

Sirius tightened his fist around his teapot. He couldn’t think about that, not when Remus was the only consistent person in his life right now, not when things between them were going so well. And not on bloody Valentine’s Day. Remus would be back in a few hours. He just needed something, a distraction, anything to do to occupy his time until then.

He glanced over at the cabinets by the sink, frowned, and walked over, opening them to reveal the stacks upon stacks, rolls and rolls of scribbled parchment inside— organized by location, by person, by time, in dozens of different types of handwriting. He reached behind them and pulled out a large worn square, spreading it flat out on the table and looking down at it intently.

The map of The Department of Mysteries.

The map itself was extremely unimpressive. Multiple areas were left blank, as they had been unable to access them and therefore record them. Even Kingsley wasn’t allowed to enter many of the chambers down there, and he had one of the highest levels of clearance at the Ministry.

The unfortunate problem was, Sirius would be willing to bet the Death Eaters knew nearly the entire Department inside and out, because they didn’t care about breaking laws or hurting others to get information. Who was to say that that Bode bloke was the only Unspeakable they’d Imperiused? Of course Voldemort’s forces were gaining in strength! Aurors had been allowed to use Unforgivable Curses in the last war— not that the ruthlessness of the Ministry had played out in Sirius’ favor. But to think, had Sirius simply cast the killing curse against Wormtail only two years ago, Voldemort would have never returned…

He traced his fingers along the corridor. It had been Harry who had stopped him from casting that spell. Even Remus had been ready to join in, a move that Sirius could’ve never predicted— but Harry had stopped them both, and the fact of the matter was, James would have, too, the stupid, noble prat.

Sirius’ eyes were drawn to the Hall of Prophecy, where Remus was right now, standing guard in the exact place Arthur had been attacked only months ago. How Sirius wished he were there, wished he were standing next to Remus instead of Hestia or Moody or whoever the bloody hell was assigned with him, wand up— how he would kill to snoop around the Ministry, eavesdrop on Fudge, fight a snake, kill Bellatrix in front of Voldemort’s very face… his fingers twitched around the handle of his wand…

There was a sharp cracking sound from the boiler room.

Sirius turned around distastefully, and then decided he should check to see if Kreacher had come to spy on him, and moodily made his way toward the door. Upon opening it, however, he saw that the small room was completely empty— perhaps he had Disapparated up to the attic again on his continued hunt for heirlooms.

Many of these heirlooms were wrapped, almost swaddled, throughout the nest of blankets, and he rolled his eyes at the framed picture of Regulus placed carefully in the corner, around which some sort of old locket was displayed, and next to that, reflecting back at him—

“KREACHER!” He roared to the open air. “I told you to _stay out of my room_!” There was no answer. Feeling a bit like a foolish child, he bent down and seized the small mirror, wondering why Kreacher had even bothered to knick it— it wasn’t even an _heirloom_ , unless Kreacher was really getting so old that he was projecting significance on every stupid thing in the house. He slammed the door as hard as he could on the way out, hoping that the force of it would break every portrait inside, and looked down at the mirror. His own reflection stared back at him.

“Harry,” he said. Nothing happened. “Harry Potter,” he said again, more loudly. His own shadowy gray eyes stared back at him. _But of course he’s busy_ , he thought dully, placing the mirror on the table and slumping into a chair— it was a weekend, and Valentine’s day… Harry was a teenager, he probably had something planned with… someone? He was James’ son, after all, and James had always had girls lined up to flirt with him, so for all Sirius knew, Harry was dating someone. But then again, maybe Remus was right when he’d said Harry probably had too many other things to worry about. What was Sirius going to do, pop in and give him fatherly advice on how to navigate teenage romance? Pretend for a second that they were a normal family? Harry hadn't even been able to tell him about being kicked off the Gryffindor Quidditch team.

Suddenly, there was the telltale sound of locks clicking upstairs. Sirius looked up, and then glanced back down at the mirror in his hand. Swearing under his breath, he shoved the mirror into the pockets of his robes, and tried to assume a bored but comfortable position in his chair as two sets of footsteps descended into the kitchen.

The door opened, and in walked Mad-Eye Moody, and behind him, looking like he was keeping a determinedly blank face, was Remus himself. He was wearing one of his least shabby pair of robes, a dull grayish-purple that seemed to bring out the scant flecks of green in his hazel eyes. Sirius noted that he had shaved sometime in between last night and now: the light scars on his chin were a little more pronounced, stark white, curling down onto his neck. So, he had put in a little extra effort this morning, had he? Sirius nearly smirked.

“…Acting like a bunch of bloody fools,” Moody was growling, one eye trained on Remus, the other spinning around the room. “Walking around like they’ve been Confunded, not one lick of common sense in the lot of ‘em…”

“Who, the Ministry?” Sirius asked, kicking his legs up on the table, forcing Remus to walk around him.

“No sense,” Moody snarled again, not really answering his question, pointing his wand at the cabinet and summoning a blank roll of parchment. “Full on war and all people are focused on is getting in a right shag… if I were bloody You-Know-Who I’d plan an attack today, not like anyone would notice, too busy _chasing buttocks_ …”

“Mad-Eye nearly blew our cover to jinx a pair of Unspeakables,” Remus said, his lips twitching as he summoned his own parchment, and whipped out a quill. “They got a bit… _friendly_ in the hall where we were stationed.”

Sirius actually shouted with laughter. “You’re _joking_ ,” he exclaimed delightedly. “You’re _joking_! You witnessed a bloody snogfest in the Department of fucking Mysteries?”

“I’m afraid so,” Remus said lightly.

“Ohhh Merlin,” Sirius cried, wiping away an imaginary tear. “Good thing we’ve got the Order on duty ‘round the clock, heaven forbid we miss any of the _action_ , huh…”

“Imbeciles,” Moody growled. “If I still worked there, I’d have them reported and fired in a second, and then I’d personally go down and curse off their—”

“—Well, I assume you’ll have to write down every detail,” Sirius said, trying with all his might to straighten his face as he eyed the parchment Moody was now scribbling upon. “What did Dumbledore say about being as thorough as possible…?”

“I hardly think this is what he had in mind,” Remus said mildly.

“You never know,” Sirius pointed out. “Maybe Voldemort’s next plan is based in the art of seduction…” and he playfully let his fingers walk up Remus’ back, cackling when he slapped them away. Moody merely grunted as he finished writing his last sentence, and then fastened his cloak tighter around his neck.

“Well, I’m off. What a bloody pathetic display,” he muttered, shoving his quill into his robes, and then frowned down at the map, which was still lying, a bit haphazardly, splayed across the table. “And put that away! Everyone’s so bloody careless…”

Sirius waited for him to leave to turn to Remus and grin. “So your date with Mad-Eye got cheekier than expected, yeah? Should I be jealous?”

“Why _were_ you looking at the Ministry schematics?” Remus asked suspiciously, frowning at the parchment.

“Chasing buttocks,” Sirius quoted sarcastically. “C’mon Moony, I’ve had bugger all to do today, was just filling in the time.” And then, when it looked like Remus was seconds from plunging into a nervous ‘are you going to break into the Ministry’ speech, Sirius thrust forward and kissed him full on the mouth, and was quite pleased to feel a shiver go down Remus’ back. Sirius kissed him hungrily, and then pulled away, grinning at Remus’ slightly dazed expression. “You’re the one who wanted to celebrate— or did Moody’s rant make you come to your senses?”

Remus stared at him very hard, and for a rather horrifying moment, he looked unsure, but then he pressed his lips together and said, firmly, “Well, I’ve already sort of planned something, haven’t I?”

“Haven’t you?” Sirius pushed, interested.

Remus took his hand and said, very quietly, “Come.”

He led him up the stairs, across the main hallway, and into the living room. Sirius became acutely aware that the hard edge of the mirror was still pressing up against his chest, and there was a very large possibility that his robes may be coming off in the next few minutes or so— and there was no way Remus wouldn’t recognize it, and wouldn’t guess Sirius’ reasons for having it on his person. So, he waited until Remus climbed behind the piano to retrieve something to nonverbally banish the mirror to his bedroom. It zoomed out the door and up the stairs, and Sirius winced as he heard it bump into a few walls on the way up, but Remus seemed quite preoccupied with whatever he was holding, a large, strangely shaped _something_ underneath a ratty old blanket—

“Is that… a record player?” Sirius asked, surprised.

“Yes,” Remus said, pulling the blanket off. “I found it up in the attic, it was hidden behind several cloaking spells, so I thought it had been cursed, but I couldn’t find anything wrong…”

“That was mine,” Sirius said abruptly, staring at it as Remus placed it upon the chest of drawers. “My mother got it for me and Reg’s stupid ballroom dancing lessons… I ended up stealing it and absolutely blasting all sorts of music from my room; I always hid it in the attic so she wouldn’t confiscate it…”

“Well, that explains why the cloaking spells were so easy to break through, they were done by a rebellious fifteen-year-old.”

“Oi!” Sirius exclaimed, mock-affronted. “They lasted this long!”

“Barely,” Remus said, his lips twitching. “And you’ll imagine my horror when I found what was hidden along with it.” He held up a record and Sirius gave out a shout of laughter.

“Bloody hell,” he cackled, “Bloody fucking hell…”

“James got this for you, what, fifth year?”

“Yeah, and you hated it.”

“It’s a terrible song, with stupid lyrics, and you and James sang it every morning for a _month_ after that concert!” Remus exclaimed.

“Oh please,” Sirius said, joyously putting the record into place. “I _know_ you still know all the words…” The record player started up, golden notes flowing out of it, sparkling and dancing around the ceiling above their heads, bouncing along to the rhythm. “C’mon Moony….”

“Absolutely not.”

“OOOOOOOOOOWWWWW!” Sirius screamed along with the voice now issuing from the player. He grabbed both of Remus’ hands. “Are you _READY_!?”

“No,” Remus said dryly.

“Wizards, make some noise!” Sirius yelled along perfectly with the voice. “Witches, grab your boys! Let’s…….. _GROOOOOOOVE_.” The record player began to rock along with the music— Sirius hadn’t listened to disco since before Azkaban— memories of Hogwarts seemed to dance along with the notes, only made that much more hilarious that Remus was staring at him, clearly trying to keep a straight face as Sirius belted every single word.

“ _Friday night, the Minister’s sleepin’! Grab our brooms, they’re not for sweepin’!_ ”

“Yes, truly poetry.”

“ _Touch down by your place, grab your hand! Go to a spot where they understand!_ ” He jumped onto the couch, sending small puffs of dust into the air. “ _A place where, bonfire’s everlastin’, A place where, the disco’s blastin’, Touchin’ on your face, it wasn’t planned, Wands in the air to the beat of the band_ …” He stepped down off the couch and grabbed both of Remus’ hands again, pulling him to the center of the room. “ _Two shots of firewhiskey… I feel like getting risky…_ Come _on_ Moony, I know you at least still remember the chorus…”

Remus sighed, heavily, but just before the chorus started, he too threw back his head and joined in— “ _Ohhhhhh!_ ”

Sirius shrieked with laughter as they yelled, “ _There’s magic in the air tonight, There’re stars shining in the sky, There’s friends all around us…Fairies soaring high… Ohhhhhh_!” Sirius spun Remus across the room. “ _Lights floating all around so bright, Reflecting all across your eyes, There’s love all throughout us… We shout out and cry…_ ”

“ _Ohhhhh!_ ,” The record player sang. “ _We’re never gonna die.”_

Sirius and Remus exchanged a look, and wordlessly, in tandem, both pointed their wands at the record player, stopping it in its tracks. There was a short silence.

“Well,” Sirius said, frowning. “That didn’t age well, did it?”

“James used to scream that from the roof of Gryffindor Tower,” Remus murmured. “Flying about on his broom…” He sighed. “I’m sorry— I told you I didn’t remember all of the lyrics.”

“I think Prongs would appreciate the irony,” Sirius said, grinning despite the small but subtle pang that seemed to radiate through his chest. He buried the feeling as quickly as he could, and reached over and brushed a strand of graying hair out of Remus’ eyes. “So, was this really the something you had planned?”

“Oh. Well, actually, I found this, as well,” Remus said quietly, and he picked up another record from the top of the piano and handed it to Sirius, almost shyly. Sirius blinked down at it.

“Oh,” he said, aware of the subtle warmth spreading through his own cheeks. “Wow.”

“So you remember it?” Remus said.

“‘Course I remember it,” Sirius replied. “It was our first dance.” And he placed the record down, dropping the needle upon it as it started to turn; rich, slow music began to flow out of the player, rippling like liquid gold around the two of them.

“We weren’t even together yet,” Remus whispered, more to himself than to Sirius, his eyes glued to the spinning record. “You, James, and Peter were dancing about like fools, and then this song came on.”

“And I said, ‘ _Bollocks, it’s slow, I need to find someone to romance_ ,’ and then I grabbed you from the sidelines,” Sirius said, remembering it crystal clear. “It was supposed to be a joke.”

“I thought it was a joke,” Remus said, very quietly now. “At first.”

“It wasn’t one,” Sirius said.

Remus looked at him, and then held out a hand. Sirius stared back at him for a moment, feeling suddenly very choked up.

“This is absurdly romantic of you, Moony,” he joked, his voice tighter than usual. “Shall I reach out to Mad-Eye, make sure you aren’t Imperiused?”

“ _You’re_ the one that had the record,” Remus replied, and he was almost smiling.

“Well yeah, but it makes sense for me,” Sirius said. Remus did not answer, but kept his hand out, and Sirius took it, letting Remus pull him forward. He dropped his head to Remus’ shoulder, wrapped his arms around waist, and together they swayed, back and forth. And if Sirius closed his eyes as tight as he could, they were back at Hogwarts, in the Great Hall, James smirking at them as they danced, all of them slowly realizing there was no joke being told.


	29. New Print, Old News

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry's interview is published // Retconning how Lily's letter to Sirius ended up at Grimmauld Place

_February 23, 1996_

_Diagon Alley, London, England_

It was an early morning, and snow was falling light and wet from the gray sky as Remus strolled his way through the cobbled streets of Diagon Alley. When he’d arrived at Gringotts to retrieve money from his vault, the town had been just starting to wake up: he liked to go to the bank early, for a bit of privacy.

But now, with his pockets barely half-full of Sickles, the walkways were filled with people trying to get an early start on whatever shopping they needed to do. They moved quickly, glancing at the Azkaban-escapee wanted posters plastered to shop windows as they hustled each other along. It was always a stark contrast, coming from the silent eerie walls of Grimmauld Place into the busy humdrum of society, and today Remus was grateful for it, despite his feelings of guilt that Sirius could never join him. Although the occasional witch or wizard may still recognize him and avert their eyes, most people didn’t know who he was, and did not care.

And he was just thinking that particular fact when someone shouted his name.

“REMUS?”

He looked up from the cobblestones, startled, to find a rather muscular figure with floppy blue hair and bright yellow eyes waving him down. Several people shot her disgruntled looks: she ignored them and shimmied her way through the crowd, nearly falling over twice in her haste.

“Tonks?” Remus said, blinking with surprise. “What’re you doing here?”

“I was meeting my dad for a quick breakfast— I haven’t gotten a chance to see him in a while, I’ve been so busy— but look, Remus, look—” she brandished a newspaper in his face, so quickly that all he caught sight of was the name.

“You read _The Quibbler?_ ” He asked, amused.

“My dad gets it delivered, he likes the laugh, but that’s beside the point— _look_ —” she thrust the paper into his hands and pointed at the front page. Staring up at the pair of them, smiling sheepishly, was _Harry,_ and across his face, in large, red letters:

> **_HARRY POTTER SPEAKS OUT AT LAST: THE TRUTH ABOUT HE-WHO-MUST-NOT-BE-NAMED AND THE NIGHT I SAW HIM RETURN._ **

“…Merlin’s Beard,” Remus breathed.

“Did you know he was going to do this?!” Tonks exclaimed, her eyes huge. “Did he say anything to you?”

“No,” Remus said, his eyes scanning furiously down the page. “But I haven’t spoken to him since the holidays…”

Tonks glanced around at the crowd, and gently pulled him towards the side of the walkway, away from curious ears. “It’s incredible,” she said under her breath. “What he went through, I mean… I knew the basics of what happened, of course, but to hear _him_ describe it… he was only fourteen…”

Remus nodded, only half paying attention to her as he scanned the paragraphs. A very large, very hard lump was growing in his throat: the story of the graveyard had been difficult enough to listen to coming from Sirius, and reading it in Harry’s own words made it almost unbearable. ****

> **_“…‘Peter Pettigrew was there, carrying *[You- Know- Who], and my scar hurt so horribly that I could barely move,’_ ** _Potter continues, referring of course to the infamous lightning bolt mark upon his forehead._ **_‘That’s when he murdered Cedric. It happened so fast— it was the killing curse, there was no way he could’ve fought back, there was nothing either of us could do…’”_ ** ****
> 
> **_“…‘and Pettigrew chopped off his own arm, and threw it in the cauldron, and then he cut my arm, took some of my blood, and poured it in as well …’”_ ** ****
> 
> **_“…‘After a moment he grew from the cauldron. He had a body. He was really tall and thin, pale white skin, red eyes like a snake's… he didn’t look human, but he was real, he was back… and I couldn’t do anything about it, because I was still tied to the gravestone…’”_ ** ****
> 
> **_“…_ ** _Potter maintains that he was not the sole witness to You-Know-Who’s rebirth:_ **_‘And then he pressed a tattoo on Pettigrew’s arm— the Dark Mark, and this summoned his Death Eaters. They arrived within minutes. They were all cloaked but he called some of them out by name.’_ ** _Potter looks at me, determined, and begins to list off these names, many of which belong to prominent and revered members of Wizarding society: Sebastian Avery, Lucius Malfoy, Christopher Nott, Walden Macnair, Anthony Crabbe, and George Goyle._ **_‘There were more,’_ ** _Potter says,_ **_‘but those were the ones he spoke to— he was angry, apparently, that they hadn’t looked for him, that they lied about their past loyalties to save their own skins.’_ ** _Interestingly enough, many of these individuals have been accused in the past, but avoided punishment by claiming to have been under the influence of the Imperius Curse…_ **_”_ **

“Merlin’s Beard,” Remus breathed again, “He named them.”

“The Death Eaters? Yeah.” Tonks’ eyes were sparkling with admiration. “He’s got nerve.”

“That’s an understatement,” Remus murmured, and then he looked up abruptly to glance at Tonks. “Do you think Dumbledore…?”

“Knew? Dunno,” Tonks shrugged. “Probably not, right? Not if you didn’t. It seems like this is something Harry organized on his own— wouldn’t be the first time, I mean, he’s running a secret bloody defense group!”

“Why on earth would Rita Skeeter volunteer to write this?” Remus whispered, his fingers tracing across the paragraphs. “Since when has she ever been interested in the _actual_ truth?”

“Maybe since it’s become more controversial than all the lies?” Tonks offered, shaking her head in bewilderment. “She always did love to stir the pot.”

“I suppose so,” Remus said, turning the page. There was no doubt in his mind that this article would cause a massive ripple effect throughout the country, if not an outright uproar. The accusation of such well-known members of Wizarding Society, the incredibly detailed accounts of dark magic that Harry couldn’t have possibly learned elsewhere or invented on his own, the physical description of Voldemort, his red eyes, his pale, smooth face— it was painstakingly truthful. Remus couldn’t even imagine what it must have taken for Harry to recount all of this.

> **_“…*Editor’s Note:_ ** _While in conversation, Harry Potter referred to You-Know-Who by his true name, but this was censored in print to make the article suitable for public consumption and distribution._ **_”_ **

“Hey, Tonks,” Remus murmured. “Do you think I could borrow this? I think Sirius would like to—”

“Keep it,” Tonks said firmly. “Hell, frame it and hang it by his mum’s portrait. I’ve already ordered about a dozen more issues, I’m gonna go see if I can strategically place them around the Ministry… perhaps a permanent sticking charm to the back of Fudge’s robes…”

“Speaking of nerve,” Remus commented dryly. Tonks winked at him, and then squeezed his arm before turning back towards the street and re-joining the crowd. He watched her go, and then looked back down at the newspaper. Harry’s face looked back, determined.

Remus returned to Grimmauld Place within minutes, and opened Sirius’ bedroom door with such enthusiasm that it banged against the wall. Sirius shot up in bed, half-asleep, his hair drooping in a tangled mess obscuring most of his face.

“Wuzgoinon?” Sirius rasped, turning blindly towards the doorframe.

“You’re going to want to read this,” Remus said, crossing the floor and sitting down next to him. Sirius squinted at him with a look of indignant disgust.

“You woke me up to _read_?”

“I thought you’d like to be one of the first to see it,” Remus said, handing him _The Quibbler_. Sirius pushed the hair out of his eyes and blinked down at the title. He stared at it for a second, shocked, and then let out a barking laugh.

“He did _not_ ,” Sirius exclaimed, looking at Remus.

“He did,” Remus confirmed. “And he didn’t spare a single detail.”

Sirius’ face stretched into an incredulous smile— he looked back down at the paper and let out a loud whoop. “Bloody _brilliant_!”

“It was an extraordinarily bold move,” Remus said quietly. “It’s going to upset a lot of people.”

Sirius raised an eyebrow. “What, you think it was foolish?”

“No,” Remus said, fiercely looking Sirius in the eye. “I think it was bloody brilliant.”

Sirius whooped again, jumping from the bed, all traces of tiredness gone. “This is what I’m telling you, Moony— entire world against him, and he doesn’t give a damn! Even with the Ministry running a bloody smear campaign, even with Umbridge on his arse, even with Voldemort himself trying to break into his mind— he goes ahead and has Rita goddamn Skeeter write a personal memoir! _Ha_!”He beamed at the paper. “The bloody _Quibbler_!”

“Indeed,” Remus smiled.

“I shoulda done something like this,” Sirius cackled, his eyes zigzagging down the article. “ _Sirius Black Finally Reveals Truth: Yes, I Am the Lead Singer of the Hobgoblins…_ ”

Remus forced a laugh. “Well, here’s hoping his responses are mostly positive. He could change a lot of minds with this.”

— -

_February 25, 1996_

_Grimmauld Place, London, England_

The effects of Harry’s article had been akin to a bomb explosion. The next couple days, it was all anyone in the Order could talk about, quoting it to one another in whispers as they walked down the hall. Molly had succumbed to tears reading it for the first time— even Mundungus had let out a horrified “Blimey,” when Harry described being tortured. _The Daily Prophet_ was inan uproar— according to Emmeline, who had connections there, almost a dozen members of the staff resigned the very day the story was printed. Arthur dropped by to report, with immense satisfaction, that he had seen Lucius Malfoy in the Ministry looking exceptionally livid. It seemed that within a day, the entire Wizarding world had read _The Quibbler_ ’s article— it became the subject of underground radio broadcasts and the like, and one performer even mentioned that she was in the process of writing a song about it. The energy coming in and out of Grimmauld Place was suddenly optimistic, hopeful, determined— after so many losses, Harry’s article felt like a win.

Remus was particularly relieved that Sirius’ mood had taken a turn for the better— he started talking more, woke up earlier, spent more time in the kitchen to converse with people returning from guard duty.

But of course, nothing that positive could seem to last.

Two days after _The Quibbler_ was published, long after Remus and Sirius had finished dinner, Severus Snape arrived at Grimmauld Place, looking, if anything, _more_ bitter than usual. Sirius had been midway through bewitching the forks and knives to duel each other, as Remus looked on in begrudging amusement, when the door swung opened and Snape stepped into the room.

The utensils clattered to the kitchen table as Sirius screwed his face up in disgust.

“No, please, Black,” Snape drawled, closing the door behind him. “Don’t stop on my account. Good to see you’re taking up hobbies, anything to pass the time, no?”

“What’re _you_ doing here?” Sirius demanded, crossing his arms.

“Dumbledore sent me,” Snape said coolly. “He wishes to uphold his promise to keep you updated on Potter’s progress— or, rather, lack thereof…”

Remus felt a twinge of annoyance. “Regarding Occlumency?”

“Obviously,” Snape said, his voice slow and dripping with sarcasm. “Unless you’d like his Potions grades as well… they too are quite… _abysmal_.”

“More of a reflection on your teaching, isn’t it?” Sirius retorted.

“Alright,” Remus said roughly, forcing politeness into his tone. “I think we can all agree that Harry’s school grades are not pertinent to this conversation, yes? So, Severus, the update, if you please.”

“Certainly, Lupin,” Snape replied, his lip curling. He sat himself down at the far end of the table, as Remus sat down on the other end, next to Sirius. They looked at each other for a long moment, and then Snape spoke again. “We’ve had about a dozen lessons at this point. Twice a week we meet— twice a week I set aside _my_ personal time to teach him. Outside of these periods of instruction, I have asked him to clear his mind before going to sleep. If he were following this one, simple task, I would be seeing improvement. And yet, his thoughts remain as unguarded as ever. With the continuous, _absurd_ ease that I am able to penetrate his mind, it is clear to me that he has put little to no effort into practicing.”

Remus’ heart sunk in disappointment. He leaned forward, rubbing his temples, thinking about how dedicated Harry had been to learning the Patronus, how he had tried over and over again. While he may not have been the most academically gifted student out there, he excelled in the practical components of magic, and had a very strong survival instinct. “Well, his life has been exceptionally overwhelming recently,” Remus offered, when nobody said a word. “Perhaps…”

“Ah, yes, the article,” Snape sneered. “Interesting that Potter cannot find five minutes to clear his mind before bed, but can put aside an entire day to recount his self-proclaimed heroic deeds at great length…”

“And how _are_ your old chums feeling about seeing their names in the paper, eh?” Sirius snapped.

“They have more on their minds than the accusations of a fifteen-year-old printed in the least reputable newspaper known to Wizardkind,” Snape said dryly. “And I don’t care how _overwhelming_ Potter’s life has been— stewing in his own thoughts and emotions leaves an easy pathway for the Dark Lord. If anything, he should be putting in double the effort, and yet he puts in none!” His voice had risen slightly, and a vein in his temple twitched.

“I’m sure that he’s trying his best,” Remus said steadily, feeling a bit defensive. “I spoke with him about the importance of these lessons— you’ll have to be patient.”

“The _Dark Lord_ is not patient, Lupin!” Snape snarled. “Last night, in fact, he finally learned the truth, Rookwood informed him that only he or Potter is able to recover the prophecy! His timeline is accelerating, and it is only a matter of time that he uses Potter’s mind to his advantage!”

There was another short silence.

“Last night?” Sirius asked. He had taken hold of one of the butter knives and was now anxiously sliding it against the edge of the table.

“…Yes,” Snape said, turning to him coldly. “And this evening, Potter’s lesson went nearly as poorly as all the ones before.”

“Well then, what’re you gonna do about it!?” Sirius demanded.

“I am doing all I can, Black,” Snape said coldly. “Unfortunately, I am not allowed to torture my students into completing their assignments.”

“What did Dumbledore say?” Remus interjected, choosing to ignore that particular sentiment. “Is he worried?”

“Of course he’s worried,” Snape answered. “But he has faith in Potter’s ability to improve— _blind_ faith, it seems, for there is little to no evidence to suggest that Potter is able or willing to improve upon anything—”

“Oh, like the blind faith he has in you, then!?” Sirius retorted.

“Continue hurling petty accusations, Black,” Snape replied calmly. “But it seems like a waste of your energy— energy you need, of course, to hide in your mansion playing out silly little domestic fantasies with Lupin.”

Remus felt his cheeks bloom bright red. Sirius opened his mouth in fury, but nothing came out. Snape glanced back and forth between the two of them, and an ugly smile slid onto his face.

“Ah, so you _are_ together again, then?” Snape said silkily. “Just as I suspected. I suppose I should say congratulations.”

Remus was the one who found his voice first. “We have veered far from the topic at hand,” he said, forcibly calm. “Severus, nobody is accusing you of anything. We both understand you have a job to do, and I assure you, nobody wants Harry to master Occlumency more than Sirius or I. We all have our orders— you are following yours, Sirius is following his, and I am following mine. I think you’ll find that all aspects are necessary for The Order’s survival.”

And then, the door swung open, and Kingsley Shacklebolt strutted into the room.

The timing could have truly not been worse, nor better, somehow, at the same time. Kingsley was holding a rather large box in his arms, and seemed to register immediately that he had walked into a rather awkward situation.

“Oh,” he said, looking around the room. “My apologies, am I interrupting something?”

“Kingsley,” Remus said quickly. “Are you on duty tonight? I thought…”

“No, no, I worked late tonight but I wanted to drop this off…” he lifted up the box a bit. “…But if it’s a bad time…”

“What’s in the box?” Sirius asked, his voice carefully controlled. “You moving in?” The joke was obviously forced, but Kingsley smiled anyways.

“I’ll keep the offer in mind,” he said humorously. “But no, this actually…” —he set the box down on the table— “…belongs to you. I thought you might want it.”

There was a short pause while Sirius frowned in confusion, and Snape’s eyes narrowed at the interruption. But Remus felt, with a small, sinking feeling, that he knew some of what the box was holding. Sirius reached forward, and opened the cardboard latches— he reached in, and pulled out a roll of parchment. He stared at it for a second, and then reached back in, pulling out a few bottles of various potions, some of which were broken, and a glittering knife engraved with his initials.

“Bloody hell,” he whispered. He turned to Kingsley, his eyes wide. “This is— these things were mine. Where did you get all this?”

“It’s been in Auror custody for over a decade,” Kingsley explained, as Remus watched Sirius very closely. “Objects of interest were initially seized from your flat, for evidentiary purposes, but of course…”

“… I didn’t have a trial, so they didn’t need them,” Sirius said bitterly.

“Yes,” Kingsley affirmed, his voice somber. “After you were imprisoned, much of it was thrown away or destroyed. Fudge recently ordered me to give whatever remained another look, but I thought it was about time it was returned to its owner.”

“Damn,” Sirius whispered, pulling out objects at random and scattering them across the table, as Snape looked on in cold disinterest, “There’s hardly anything in here.” He picked up a large journal and stared at it— and then he whispered something under his breath, and it shuddered and sprung open, and a few letters slipped out of the pages, landing on the tabletop. Kingsley raised his eyebrows, apparently impressed, but Sirius was still going strong— he reached back into the box and pulled out a 1981 calendar, faded and crumbling, with notes and messages scrawled all over. He dropped it, too, on the table, and as it unfurled, Remus noticed with a sharp pang that all of the full moon dates were circled. Sirius peered back into the box, and then back up at Kingsley. “What about everything else?”

“Again, mostly everything was deemed insignificant— it’s possible some of it was lost in the Fiendfyre incident of ’88… you remember, the child of that Improper Use of Magic employee got into the evidence room and knocked over a spell containment jar… what a nightmare…”

“No, I don’t remember, I was in Azkaban,” Sirius said bluntly.

“Didn’t stop you from asking Fudge to borrow a _Prophet_ crossword puzzle when he visited your cell,” Kingsley said, smiling slightly. Sirius rolled his eyes, but his own lip quirked.

“I guess my landlord probably tossed everything the Aurors left behind,” Sirius sighed. “Poor bloke, he was a Muggle, there was a ton of magical rubbish…”

Remus swallowed. “Well…” he murmured. “We took a few things.”

Sirius stared at him, evidently surprised. “We? _You_ went to pick up my stuff?”

“Dumbledore accompanied me,” Remus said, very quietly, wondering how on earth they hadn’t discussed this before now.

“Ah,” Sirius said.

A pause.

Kingsley glanced between the two of them, and then he cleared his throat a bit too loudly. “Well, I should probably be off,” he announced, glancing between the two of them. “Snape, ah, will you be leaving soon as well?”

There was only a silence in response, and Remus, momentarily distracted by the fact that Snape hadn’t made any more snide comments, turned to look at him. Snape was staring at one of the open letters on the table, one that had slid out of the book and landed in front of him. His eyes were fixated on it, and his face was white as a sheet— he looked almost terrified.

“Snape?” Kingsley said again, frowning.

Snape tore his eyes from the letter with extreme difficulty to look up at Kingsley. “I— yes, I should be returning to the castle.” His voice sounded oddly metallic, and as he stood up, Remus noticed his entire body was rigid, as if he were clenching every muscle he had.

“Please, continue to update us on Harry,” Remus said quickly. Snape turned to him, and for one startling moment, he looked about sixteen-years-old— and then it was gone, and Snape simply gave a sharp, curt nod, and swept from the room. Sirius didn’t even watch him go— he was still rifling through the box.

“Won’t Fudge notice that this box is missing?” Remus asked quietly, as Kingsley and Sirius exchanged goodbyes.

“No,” Kingsley said matter-of-factly. “I told him I’d be taking it all home with me in order to study it further. To step into his mindset, of course.”

“Impressive,” Remus muttered. He glanced back at Sirius, and then, lowering his voice, continued, “Thank you.”

Kingsley shrugged. “He’s an innocent man. It’s the very least I can do.” He patted Remus on the shoulder. “Have a good evening, my friend.”

“Yeah, you too,” Remus said softly. “Take care.”

He waited until both Snape and Kingsley had left the house to return to the table. Sirius was staring intently at the margins in a book, but Remus had caught sight of the letter Snape had been looking at— lying atop it was a small photo, blurring movement which had grabbed his eye…

He leaned towards it and his heart shot into his throat. The words, the distinctive curve of the _g_ s— he recognized it so plainly from all the notes and letters they’d exchanged, from the writing on the Gryffindor notice board after she’d been made Head Girl…

“Sirius,” he said, his voice sounding strange to his own ears.

“What?”

“I think— this is from Lily.”

Sirius looked over. “What?”

“This letter, I recognize her handwriting,” Remus said, and he passed it across the table to Sirius.

Sirius let out a sharp inhale. “Bloody hell,” he whispered. “I— bloody hell.”

“It was tucked away in your journal,” Remus said quietly. “So you’ve— I mean, you’ve already read it?”

“Yeah,” Sirius said, his voice thick. He stared down at the letter. “She sent it a bit after Harry’s birthday. I couldn’t celebrate with them, I was on duty— I saw them later in August, but I was gone all September on that mission… and then I— well, I visited again a few times throughout October, and that’s when I suggested…” he trailed off and looked down at the sentences before him. “‘ _Wormy was here last weekend, I thought he seemed down_ ,’” he quoted, his entire face stretching into disgust.

“I didn’t visit at all, not in the end,” Remus said.

Sirius looked sideways at him. “I know,” he said roughly.

“I didn’t think they wanted me to,” Remus barely whispered.

“Well, I told them you were the spy,” Sirius shrugged. “Not that James believed me for a second, mind you.”

“And Lily?” Remus asked.

“Lily loved you much more than she loved me,” Sirius grinned. “She nearly jinxed me the first time I suggested you.”

“I wish she had,” Remus said, forcing dry sarcasm into his tone.

“Not to worry,” Sirius said lightly. “She jinxed me plenty of other times.” He passed the letter and the small photo back to Remus and he felt his heart swell as he looked upon Lily’s laughing face, as James chased a laughing one-year-old Harry, zooming around on a toy broomstick…

“That journal,” Remus said quietly, his thumb hovering over Lily’s flowing red hair. “The same sort of concealments as we put on the map?”

“Yeah,” Sirius smiled fondly at it. “Hides anything within it, writing or otherwise, to anyone who doesn’t know the code. Bet those Aurors would’ve had a right old time flipping through blank pages.”

“You always said you hated journaling,” Remus said conversationally, his eyes skimming down the letter.

“I used it for other stuff,” Sirius shrugged. “Hid notes and scraps.” He looked at the other letters that had fallen onto the table. “Shame I didn’t save any of James’s letters— after he went into hiding I had to start to burn them all, he was so _shit_ at being vague, so bloody bored he’d go on for pages and pages about every detail.” His brows furrowed so tightly together they nearly merged into one. “Stupid git.”

And Remus saw, to his horror, that Sirius’ eyes were wet.

“Would you look at the end of this letter!” Remus said quickly. “Dumbledore and Grindelwald!”

“…Yeah,” Sirius said, head turned away, roughly wiping his sleeves against his face in a way he clearly thought was subtle. “Maybe _that’s_ why Dumbledore trusts Snape, they have a mutual friend.” 

Remus forced a laugh. He felt guilty, but he simply was not in the position to comfort Sirius about James, not right now. Not when Sirius had seen them multiple times throughout their final months, and he, Remus, hadn’t even gotten an invitation to Harry’s first birthday… no, instead, he had been on the outskirts of society, tracking down other werewolves, avoiding the rest of the Order— none of them knew, of course, what he was, and every once in a while Remus feared that Sirius would tell them… for revenge… or maybe it would just slip out of anger…

_“Padfoot’s been, erm… been saying things,” Peter had told him nervously. “About you.”_

_“What?”_

_“No, nothing like that. Just— I shouldn’t even be telling you this…”_

_“_ What _, Peter?”_

_“Just… it’s like he’s trying to turn Prongs against you, or something, y’know? He’ll just say all this stuff about how you aren’t… trustworthy anymore… shite like that. I mean, I know it’s rubbish, but you know how James is about Sirius…”_

_“… I do.”_

_“Well, personally I think it’s a bit dodgy. I mean, why’s Padfoot trying to raise all this suspicion, huh? It’s a bit rich, I mean,_ he’s _the one who’s been acting extra odd this year…”_

Remus clenched his jaw. Peter, in the end, had outsmarted all of them. He looked around at the scant amount of artifacts, and then turned back to Sirius.

“I arrived at your flat the morning after you were arrested,” Remus said, answering a question Sirius hadn’t asked. “The Aurors had already searched your room, but everything was mostly still there. Dumbledore came with me. He, erm— he didn’t want me to be alone.” Sirius was watching him very intently, and Remus kept talking. “I only took one thing. Just the photo that was by your bed. I— I brought it with me to Yorkshire. It’s still there, in a box, on the floor of my closet.”

“There’s a lot of symbolism there, but I’ll allow it.”

“I only took it because Dumbledore said I’d want something. I told him that I didn’t care, but he insisted. He said that he could write your mother and pass everything onto her, but I— well, I knew you wouldn’t have wanted that.”

Sirius stared at him, raising his eyebrow. “You still cared about what I wanted?”

“Yes. No. I don’t know, I was very… I was in a state. I…” he looked down at the tabletop. “I told him to just get rid of it all, to throw it all out. He promised he would. And then… I left. I went back to Yorkshire alone, there wasn’t anything left for me elsewhere.”

Sirius frowned. “Well, that sounds miserable.”

Remus shrugged. “So does Azkaban.”

Sirius burst into laughter.

“What!?” Remus demanded, but Sirius couldn’t seem to explain himself, he was just laughing and laughing and laughing, tears welling up in his eyes again. Remus rolled his eyes and looked at him in exasperation, but he kept on laughing, and before Remus realized it, his own lips were twitching, and a small chuckle escaped. So they sat there, laughing, surrounded by letters written by dead friends in a house built by evil wizards, while baby Harry zoomed around his photograph, blissfully unaware that he soon would face both.


	30. Birthdays and Runaways

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lupin turns thirty-six // April the 1st brings no prank

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> proofreading? idk her

_March 10, 1996_

_12 Grimmauld Place, London_

Sturgis Podmore was released from Azkaban on the first of March, and Emmeline had been the one to retrieve him. According to her, he slept for twenty-six hours straight in her spare bedroom, before weakly asking when his next guard shift was.

“And then, I stunned him,” Emmeline reported straight-frowardly. “I suppose twenty-six hours weren’t enough.”

The only good news to come of Sturgis’ Azkaban sentence was the Imperius Curse appeared to have lifted. Sturgis vaguely recollected Lucius Malfoy cursing him, the weeks afterward in which he had existed in a dream, and the fateful night he had attempted to force himself into the Hall of Prophecies. When he’d heard what had happened to Boderick Bode, however, he smiled grimly.

“Guess I got off easy, then,” he said, but his gaunt, pale face said otherwise. Sirius recognized the signs of Azkaban on him: he was much thinner, and his signature good-natured laugh was quieter, more fragile. He hadn’t stayed long enough to retain the lasting effects of haunted, shadowy eyes, but every once in a while he would share a glance with Sirius, and an understanding would pass between them, an understanding that only people imprisoned by dementors could feel.

Sirius, however, did not want to talk about it, and he was thankful that Sturgis didn’t bring it up. He couldn’t help but feel jealous that Sturgis’ imprisonment had been so brief, when Sirius’ still felt never-ending. He decided to focus, instead, on other matters, and he was lucky enough that a more celebratory form of distraction was drawing near.

Sirius had learned pretty early on that Remus was weird about his birthday. Sirius originally thought that maybe he didn’t like being the center of attention, or hated wild parties or something. And while those two things were to some extent true, he came to realize that Remus was more concerned with the actual aging.

_“Aging!?” James had sputtered. “You sound like my parents! You’re turning thirteen, mate, not seventy.”_

_“Yeah, don’t say that in front of Dumbledore,” Peter piped in. “He’s like, the oldest man in the world.”_

_“Actually, Nicholas Flamel is the oldest man in the world,” Remus said quietly._

_Sirius rolled his eyes. “Are you serious, Moony?”_

_“If you’re all done making fun of me,” Remus muttered, turning back to his essay, his cheeks pink._

Sirius had managed to coax it out of him, a few weeks later. Remus had apparently been bitten only a couple weeks before his fifth birthday, and his first full moon had been a week after it. As he grew up, his birthday was always marked by his parents whispering, in tears, behind closed doors about how big he was getting, and how they couldn’t keep using the cellar to contain him much longer…

_“You idiot,” Sirius had scowled. “You hate your birthday because you only have bad memories. If you made some good ones, you wouldn’t hate it anymore! My birthday was always stuffy garden parties and dress robes and aunts and uncles telling me what to do, but did I let that ruin my life? No! C’mon, mate, let us get you a cake, okay?”_

Miraculously, it seemed to have helped. As long as Remus was surrounded by friends, he seemed to start to enjoy his birthday— Sirius, James, and Peter always strove to remind him that he had survived another year, and that they would be there with him for the next one.

And now, well— Sirius felt like they _both_ needed that reminder now more than ever.

“Hey Moony,” Sirius said that morning, as they were halfway through breakfast. “So, don’t be mad.”

Remus fixed him with a stare so penetrating that Sirius felt a bit attacked. “And _why_ Sirius, would you think that I was going to be mad?”

“Well, any person in their right mind wouldn’t be.”

“You’re off to a phenomenal start.”

“We _may_ have a few dinner guests tonight,” Sirius said. “You know, for your birthday.” Remus looked up, surprised, but didn’t immediately say anything, so Sirius kept talking. “Just a small thing, mind you, and in my defense, it was mostly Molly’s idea.” That had actually been true. A little less than a week before, the night of the full moon, Molly and Tonks had arrived at Grimmauld Place after being on duty to write up their reports. Molly had asked about Remus, who was of course, curled upstairs in Regulus’ bedroom, and well— the subject of his nearing birthday had simply come up, somehow.

“Tonks, Kingsley, and Arthur work until six, so they’ll be in nearby anyways,” Sirius added. “Sturgis needs to re-learn how to socialize. And Molly already baked a pie.”

Remus sighed. “You do realize this is ridiculous, yes?”

“It’s dinner with people who care about you,” Sirius said cheerfully. “And lest we forget, _you’re_ the one who decided to celebrate Valentine’s Day.”

“That was different,” Remus said, his cheeks slightly pink. “It was just us.”

“C’mon Moony,” Sirius urged, getting slightly annoyed. “I’ve got nothing else to do. I can’t exactly take you out to the Three Broomsticks for a birthday drink, can I? And it’ll be— y’know— nice to have people here again!” The last sentence came out a little louder than he’d wanted it to, and Sirius was acutely aware that he’d made the conversation about himself. He clenched his jaw, waiting for the telling-off that was sure to come, but instead—

“Alright,” Remus said quietly.

“Yeah?” Sirius said.

Remus shrugged. “It’ll be good for y—us to have some company.”

The evening came, bringing with it, Tonks, Molly, Arthur, Mad-Eye, Kingsley, and Sturgis. Sirius had made extra effort to mention that the whole affair should be understated as possible, or Remus would get uncomfortable, but Tonks managed to show up with hair that looked suspiciously like party streamers. Luckily, Remus saw it and seemed unable to quench a little half-smile. Dinner lasted several hours, and Remus barely even protested to Molly putting a candle on his slice of pie— everyone was in a high spirits by the end of the night, and even Sturgis seemed to be in a good mood, though he was, uncharacteristically, the first to return home.

The Weasleys, on the other hand, were the last to leave; Remus had insisted on cleaning up and had Molly insisted on helping him. And so Sirius, who was perfectly happy _not_ to help clean, found himself sitting in the living room alone with Arthur Weasley.

Sirius couldn’t help staring at him, sitting comfortably on a plush armchair, looking perfectly at ease. Arthur was ten years older than Sirius— they had never been at Hogwarts together, but he and Molly _had_ been to Hogwarts with Bellatrix— she’d only been a year below them— and he’d remembered her talking about them when he was little…

_“The Prewett girl, the homely one— did you hear, she’s started dating Arthur Weasley— the two biggest blood traitor families, joining together at last!” Bellatrix had whispered to Andromeda. “I mean, Weasley’s basically a Muggle himself, so you can’t even really call it a pureblood union, can you? More of a disgrace— it’s disgusting, trying to eat breakfast with those two smushing faces at the Gryffindor table!”_

_“Well, maybe you should stop staring at the Gryffindor table, then?” Andromeda offered._

_“Gotta keep an eye on your enemies, Drom,” Bellatrix said knowingly, tapping her nose. Andromeda gave a crooked smile._

_“Weasley’s such a stupid name,” Sirius piped up. “If they get married, they should take hers.”_

_Bellatrix snorted with cold laughter. “That’s one method of wiping out the Weasleys, I suppose.”_

_“Bella,” Andromeda frowned._

_“What?” Bellatrix smirked. “We’re all thinking it!”_

_“Thinking what?” Sirius asked._

_“That the wizarding race would be better off without them!”_

_“But they’re pureblood,” Andromeda responded unemotionally. “There aren’t that much of us left.”_

_Bellatrix shrugged. “It’s only a matter of time until one of them marries a Mudblood, and then they won’t be pure anymore.” And she strutted over to greet the Lestrange brothers,Andromeda and Sirius watching her go._

_Sirius turned to his favorite cousin. “Isn’t Arthur Weasley’s mother…?”_

_“Our grand-aunt Cedrella? Yes.” Andromeda nodded._

_“My mother burnt her off the tree way before I was born,” Sirius said._

_“Oh, I know,” Andromeda said. She paused, and then continued, “Her youngest son, Bilius, is in my year. I’ve seen her drop him and Arthur off at the Hogwarts Express.” She paused, gazing thoughtfully across the throng of pureblood wizards. “She seems to be doing just fine.”_

Sirius watched Arthur polish his glasses. There were round scars on the palms of his hands, evidence of a snake’s many puncture wounds.

“Thank you for coming, Arthur,” he said, without really planning on saying it. Arthur looked up at him, slightly surprised, but then his face broke out into a smile.

“Thank _you_ for having us,” he replied kindly. “It was nice to have a bit of distraction, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Sirius agreed, scuffling the carpet with his shoe.

“Remus seemed to enjoy himself,” Arthur said, placing his glasses back upon his long, thin nose. “That was rather nice to see.”

“Yeah, well,” Sirius shrugged. “If it were up to him, he’d have been on guard duty.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Arthur said. “Whenever I’ve been paired with him, I always had the impression that he couldn’t wait to return home.”

Sirius glanced sideways at him. “His home is technically still in Yorkshire.”

“Ah yes,” Arthur nodded. “Technically.” Maybe it was the lighting, but his eyes seemed to twinkle in a knowing way. Sirius stopped scuffling his shoe. There was a short, but not uncomfortable pause, and then Arthur turned in his seat. “I’d like to confess something to you, actually.”

Sirius frowned, a little wary. “…Alright, then.” 

“And I’d appreciate it if you, er— well, if you wouldn’t mention it to Molly,” Arthur said, now lowering his voice.

Sirius raised his eyebrows in amusement. “Merlin’s beard, Arthur, do you have a second family?”

“Wouldn’t have the time,” Arthur replied seriously. “No, I— erm— have something of yours. In my possession, actually. Molly doesn’t know, and it’s— well— I mean, I probably should have turned it in _years_ ago, but seeing as no one but Hagrid really knows I have it— and well, of course, you ended up being innocent, anyways…” He frowned, as if suddenly regretting sharing this information, but seemed to decide he had already passed the point of no return. “Well, your motorcycle,” Arthur finished. “It’s sitting in my shed with the other— the other, erm, Muggle artifacts that I’ve been… studying… over the years.”

Sirius gaped at him. “You have my _bike_?”

“I know you gave it to Hagrid originally,” Arthur said quickly. “But he didn’t want it once— well—”

“Right, right, he thought I was a murdering traitor,” Sirius said impatiently.

“Well, it breaks about a dozen laws on its own,” Arthur continued, his face shining despite the fact that it was his job to enforce those very laws. “It’s extraordinary magic, it is, and to think, you were barely out of school!”

“Actually, I was in school. I got it in my sixth year,” Sirius said, unable to stop the grin that was spreading across his face. “And, mind you, it took another year to get it right, it kept exploding… falling out of the air…”

“It’s fantastic,” Arthur exclaimed. “And I hope it’s alright, recently I’ve been tinkering with it a bit… seeing what features I could add… I was thinking about an invisibility booster, I’ve had mixed success in the past but once stabilized it can become a virtually undetectable means of travel… theoretically, of course,” he added hastily, in a rather unconvincing tone of voice.

“Sounds brilliant,” Sirius said, grinning.

“Of course, it still belongs to you,” Arthur continued quickly. “I should’ve said something sooner, but I didn't— well, if you’d like me to leave it alone…”

“Nah,” Sirius shook his head, and tried not to sound resentful when he continued, “I can’t exactly use it right now, can I? It’s better off with you.” He paused and then added, “…Or perhaps I’ll give it to Harry for his sixteenth birthday.”

Arthur let out a nervous chuckle. “Molly would have both of our heads.”

“Fine,” Sirius grinned. “Seventeenth.”

The Weasleys finally left about twenty minutes later, and Sirius found himself sitting at the piano bench, idly playing the keys as Remus saw them out the front door. He wasn’t nearly as good as he used to be, when he was a child and his mother insisted on weekly lessons, but his fingers managed to find most of the right keys, even if they fumbled a bit while doing so. He was halfway through a stilted rendition of _Whitlock’s Symphony No. 289_ when he realized that Remus was leaning against the doorframe, watching him.

“You’re being a bit creepy, you know,” Sirius said cheerfully, continuing to play.

“You’re the one playing mournful piano to an empty room,” Remus replied, and even though Sirius wasn’t looking at his face, he could tell Remus was smiling.

“It won’t be empty if you join me,” Sirius responded, smirking slightly, and he let his fingers glide along the keys as Remus stepped further across the carpet, and sat down on the couch. He continued to play in comfortable silence, feeling a sense of warmth settle into his stomach.

“You were talking to Arthur for ages,” Remus said after a minute or two. “What about?”

“Illegal bewitchments of Muggle transportation vehicles,” Sirius answered, his right hand climbing up the white and black keys.

“Naturally,” Remus said, his admonishing tone ruined slightly by the clear flicker of amusement in his voice.

“And I assume that’s what you were talking about with Molly, as well, hm?”

“Something like that,” Remus said, and then he fell silent. Sirius played a few more bars, and was just starting to consider asking Remus if he had known Arthur had had his motorbike all of these years, but Remus spoke again before he could do so.

“Sirius,” Remus said, and his voice was very quiet.

“Mmm?” Sirius responded, frowning as he attempted a particularly complicated series of notes.

“I love you.”

Sirius’ pinky slid off of its key, hitting a wrong note and producing a startlingly discordant sound. His heart suddenly beating very fast, he took his hands from the keyboard and looked over in surprise. Remus was perched on the edge of the couch, his hands clasped together in his lap, somehow looking both nervous and resolute, all at once.

“I’m sorry?” Sirius asked, staring at him.

“Well, I realized you said it to me, months ago. And I never returned the sentiment. Officially, I mean,” Remus said, his brow furrowing.

“Mmmm, officially,” Sirius replied, feeling a bit bewildered. “As long as we’re doing this by the books, then.”

Remus frowned. “That’s not what I—”

“Moony!” Sirius interrupted. “I’m only teasing.”

“Well, I’m not,” Remus said. “I’m trying to be sincere, actually.”

Sirius looked at him, long and hard. His pulse was still going faster than normal, and suddenly, the night they had broken up, fifteen years ago, flashed in his mind.

_“Forgive me for thinking that love is enough,” Sirius had said._

_“It’s not,” Remus had replied._

Sirius swallowed with a bit of difficulty. “I love you too,” he said. “But you know that.”

Remus hesitated for a moment, and then walked very purposefully forward, and gently cupped Sirius’ jaw in his hand. His fingers felt strangely warm against Sirius’ cheeks, and he felt his eyes flutter close when Remus bent down, kissing him with aching softness. Sirius kissed him back, reaching his arms up to wrap around Remus’ neck, rising from the bench to further close the distance between them. They stood there for a moment, entwined, their lips meeting, over and over again, intimately slow. Sirius broke away first, and rested his nose and forehead against Remus’ own, looking into his tired hazel eyes.

“I do have a gift for you, by the way,” Sirius whispered, lightly stroking Remus’ hair.

“Sirius…”

“It’s not a _bank loan_ , Moony,” Sirius said, exasperated. “It was originally going to be your Christmas gift, and if you reject it again, I’m just going to give it to you on Easter.”

Remus glanced down at Sirius’ lips, and then back up to his eyes. “Fine,” he relented.Sirius smiled, and with a wave of his wand, produced large box. Remus looked at it warily.

“Open it,” Sirius said. Remus leaned over, and opened the box. He stared.

“Is this…?” He reached inside, and pulled out a stack of parchment in one hand, and a handsome leather book cover in the other.

“When he was a teenager, my Uncle Cygnus wanted to write a book about… well, it’s not important,” Sirius said decidedly. “Obviously, he never did, and all of the materials were just up in the attic…”

“This is a professional bookmaking kit,” Remus said quietly.

“Well, yeah,” Sirius said. “It’s a pretty good one, I think. Editing ink, self-binding cover…”

“You gave me all that grief for getting Harry books for Christmas,” Remus said, staring at Sirius in awe, “And you get me… a bookmaking _kit_?” 

“Well, if you’d look a little closer,” Sirius said impatiently, reaching into the box and pulling out a square of parchment. Remus took it from him.

> _July 7th, 1975_
> 
> _Dear Padfoot,_
> 
> _I hope things at home are going_ ~~ _well_~~ ~~ _okay_~~ _as good as they can be going. Things here are a bit much right now, to be honest. My father brought home this book for me— you’d find the name quite stupid, I think, and so I’m not going to tell you what it is. But I’m sure you’ll hear about it soon. Apparently it’s causing a bit of a stir, because it was written by someone else with— as Prongs would say— a furry little problem. Of course, they remained anonymous in name. My mother read it_ ~~ _and I could hear her crying throughout the w_~~ ~~_but I don’t think my father could bring himself to_~~ _but I don’t know what good it did her. I think she wants me to write one now, myself. But I think out of all four of us, James is the most likely to end up writing an autobiography. Or more likely, a pamphlet recording his greatest Quidditch hits. And I hate to admit it, but they’d probably sell. I, on the other hand— well, I’m sure you’d find whatever I wrote to be dreadfully boring._
> 
> _Besides, I’m more of a reader, anyway._
> 
> _Well, you’re still planning on going to James’s later this summer, right? If so, I’ll see you in August!_
> 
> ~~ _I miss y_ ~~
> 
> _Yours,_
> 
> _Moony_

“I was making a joke, Padfoot,” Remus said in bewilderment, looking up from the letter. “Ididn’t actually want to… to write a book.”

“No, I know,” Sirius said, a bit annoyed that Remus wasn’t catching on to what he personally thought was a pretty impressive metaphor. “It’s more like— well, you could, you know. If you wanted to.” He paused and then added, “As in, you don’t have to be just… a _reader_.”

Remus stared at him, and Sirius felt an odd sense of unease.

“This is from almost twenty years ago,” Remus said, looking back down at the letter. “It’s a strange one to keep, isn’t it?”

“Found it in my desk,” Sirius said, sitting down on the couch and still watching him. “I tried to take most of them with me when I ran to the Potters, but a couple got left behind.” He waited a moment and then added, gesturing to the kit, “If you don’t want it, you can always sell it.”

“I’m not going to sell it,” Remus said matter-of-factly. “It’s beautiful.”

“Alright,” Sirius said, and an odd lump rose in his throat. He suddenly wished he were alone. “Well… happy birthday, Moony.”

“Thank you,” Remus said, and when he smiled, it was genuine. “I had a very nice night.”

— -

_April 1, 1996_

_12 Grimmauld Place, London_

The rest of March passed uneventfully, and while Sirius knew that was probably a good thing, he was growing more and more antsy. Snape dropped by once again to share that Harry had seen more of the Department of Mysteries in his dreams, and Sirius had been so furious that Remus had literally had to hold him back with a quietly murmured charm, but there had been little other news. Sirius noticed Remus started to go off into town and fetch Muggle newspapers, scanning them for any bits of seemingly non-magical occurrences that may be anything but, but even he with his careful eye had not noticed any sort of odd, unexplained tragedies or events. And although Sirius knew the Death Eaters were trying to lay low, he couldn’t imagine Bellatrix reigning in her impulse to torture for this long.

And yet, things were quiet. Tedious. Sirius found himself cleaning again, just to find something to do— Kreacher had taken to keeping to himself more and more, which to some extent was a blessing, although what he could be doing in all his free time, Sirius had no idea. His mood was, as it had been since Christmas, almost _chipper_ , which was a bit disconcerting— Sirius was, at times, almost jealous that he couldn’t find the same joy in such a pathetic, boring, repetitive existence.

And that boring continuity gave his mind far too much time to overthink things— a personality trait that he had prided himself on _not_ having when he was young. He wasn’t used to muddling things over, for worrying about how things in the present would affect his future— but now, it’s all he had time for. And ever since Remus had said “I love you,” something had changed. Obviously it felt good to know he was loved— although, and he didn’t mean to be arrogant, the confession didn’t really come as a shock— it was more of the realization that suddenly, they had completed another step, and there would be a point, inevitably, where Remus would chicken out again and stop walking. That’s what happened last time, and sure, things were different now— they were more on the same page, that is. When Sirius was younger, yeah, he had wanted the wedding, and the babies, and the bloody picket fence— but obviously, none of those things were options anymore, not for Sirius. And Remus hadn’t wanted them— or, rather, thought he didn’t deserve them, so now they should be on the same page, and the “I love you,” well, that should have just been proof of that.

But Sirius still couldn’t shake the feeling of horrible stagnation. He didn’t like being stagnant. Remus did, but he didn’t. So maybe they weren’t on the same page? Sirius wanted to rip his hair out at the nonsense of it all. The weeks grew long, the days grew dull, and he seemed to seesaw back and forth between morning spirals of anxious energy and evening blankets of dull boredom.

And the evening of April the first had all the makings of another dull one. Remus had gone to bed early, as it was three days before the full moon— he’d arrived home from guard duty at half past eight, fingers pressing into his temples, and had promised to join him for dinner after lying down for a moment; Sirius found him, several minutes later, face down on their bed, grimacing and fully asleep. So Sirius ate dinner with Buckbeak, and was just considering perhaps turning in early himself when a silver cat streaked through the wall into the room.

Sirius jumped up to get a look at it: the Patronus was a tabby, with distinctive square markings around its eyes— he recognized it at once. It looked at him, opened its mouth, out which came the voice of Minerva McGonagall, shaking with rage, speaking in short, direct statements.

_“POTTER’S GROUP DISCOVERED BY UMBRIDGE AND FUDGE. ALBUS TOOK RESPONSIBILITY, OVERPOWERED THEM TO AVOID ARREST. NOW ON THE RUN FROM THE MINISTRY. LEFT HOGWARTS TEN MINUTES AGO. WHEREABOUTS UNKNOWN. HARRY IS SAFE. WILL FOLLOW UP WHEN KNOW MORE.”_

The silence that followed did not extend to the ringing in his ears.

“WHAT?” He shouted at the cat. “What do you— _WHAT_ HAPPENED?”

But the cat just dissolved into faint silvery light.

Sirius stared at the spot where it vanished, his body static, his mind racing. Dumbledore had attacked Fudge— what had Fudge been doing at Hogwarts?— Harry’s group had been discovered— Dumbledore had left the castle—

Sirius turned on his heel and dashed downstairs, around the corner, into the empty bedroom where Harry and Ron had stayed. He hurtled towards the blank portrait hanging, immovable, on the wall.

“Phineas!” Sirius barked. “OI, _PHINEAS_!”

There was no response.

“I KNOW YOU CAN HEAR ME!” Sirius shouted. “OI!” He banged the wall next to the frame. “PHINEAS!”

“Sirius?”

Sirius whirled around to see Remus standing in the doorway, holding his illuminated wand in front of him, squinting as if in pain. He had clearly just woken up, but Sirius didn’t have the time to feel bad about it.

“What’s going on?” Remus continued.

“McGonagall just sent a Patronus— Umbridge discovered Harry’s defense group—”

“What!?”

“But Dumbledore covered for him and I think Fudge was getting ready to arrest him and he— left the castle, or ran or something—”

“ _WHAT!?”_ All of the sleep left Remus’ eyes, replaced by a manic, wild look. “ _Arrest him—_ arrest _Dumbledore_!?”

“I’m trying to figure it out, if you’d just give me a— Phineas!”

For his great-great-grandfather had slid into the picture frame, and was looking at him with an irritated sort of frown. “The banging is a bit uncivilized, don’t you think?” He said in a snide little voice.

“I’ll take that into future consideration,” Sirius snapped. “Now, will you tell us what’s going on?”

“In regards to…?”

Sirius could have set the portrait on fire, but Remus stepped forward, his lit wand illuminating Phineas’ face. “Please,” he said, his voice tight and impatient. “We don’t mean to use you as an owl, but this is urgent. We would greatly appreciate it if you could explain to us what’s just happened.”

Phineas sighed. “It’s a dark day when the _werewolf_ is the one with manners,” he lamented. Sirius opened his mouth to retort, but Remus touched his shoulder to stop him.

“If you could start from the beginning, please,” Remus said, his voice curt.

“Very well, the action is mostly over anyway,” Phineas sighed. “The Minister arrived at Dumbledore’s office with a pair of Aurors with the intention to expel Harry Potter. Dolores Umbridge made a rule, you see, and he broke it by holding some group meeting. One of his silly little members tipped her off. The fool, Potter left the paper with all the students’ names on it just lying around the Room of Requirement…”

“Bollocks,” Sirius muttered.

“Teachers are always having to clean up students’ messes, I tell you,” Phineas continued, shaking his head. “They named their little group ‘Dumbledore’s Army,’ and so Dumbledore took credit for it to save Potter from expulsion.”

“No,” Remus breathed.

“Yes,” Phineas said. “Well, of course, the Minister ordered the Aurors to arrest him, treason, conspiracy, blah blah blah, but Dumbledore, true to form, hexed them and disappeared. Phoenix style.” He smirked, as if proud. “They’re still running around the castle searching for him— I never _did_ like it when the Ministry tried to get involved in schooling…”

“So Harry’s not expelled?” Sirius clarified.

Phineas rolled his eyes. “Correct,” he drawled. “And because of that, Hogwarts no longer has a Headmaster. Now, if you’ll excuse me…” he made to slide out of the side of his portrait, but Remus stepped forward.

“Wait,” Remus said, stepping forward, his face white. “Did he— Dumbledore— did he say where he was going?”

“ _Really_?” Phineas sniffed, rolling his eyes. “No, of course not. All he said was he wasn’t going into hiding. He always seems to have _some_ sort of side project going on.” And then he was gone.

Sirius stared at the now-empty portrait for a moment, and then turned to gape at Remus. He could not do much more than that, in the moment: the amount of information thrusted into his brain was too much to properly analyze; his thoughts felt like static.

The doorbell rang.

Sirius’ mother shrieked.

Sirius and Remus stared at each other.

“You don’t think that’s him, do you?” Sirius said, bewildered, but Remus was already hurrying out of the room, wand out, his jaw clenched tightly, a vein in his temple visibly pulsing. Sirius hurried after him, whipping out his own wand, but when he got to the first floor, Tonks was standing in the doorway, face terrified under her spiky pink hair, clutching a memo in her hand.

“Wotcher,” she said, in an unusually high voice. “Hope your night is going well. Erm, not to worry you, but should I be concerned that there’s a warrant out for Dumbledore’s arrest?”

They called as much of the Order as they could to Grimmauld Place, and most people showed up within minutes. Sirius had never been more unhappy to have company: there was nothing much to discuss, as the limp scraps of information they had was only enough to fill a few minute's time. Snape, McGonagall, Hagrid: none of them had arrived, no one from Hogwarts was there to share a shred of news, and the wild conjecture flying around was borderline useless. What Sirius _really_ wanted to do was slide away and try to reach Harry on the mirror, but every time he made to leave the kitchen, someone would ask him again to share what McGonagall’s Patronus had said, or recount Phineas Nigellus’ version of the events. Sirius became quite annoyed with the whole lot of them, even Remus, who was sitting at the table, hands on his temples as if he could destroy his migraine with his forefingers.

And then, two hours later, when Sirius thought he might actually fully lose it and jinx Molly, Kingsley arrived.

He opened the door and a hush fell in the kitchen, every eye trained on Kingsley as he stepped into the room.

“I see you’ve heard the news,” he said in a deep voice.

“We’ve barely heard anything!” Molly exclaimed shakily.

“Well,” Kingsley said. “I have no idea where Dumbledore is, but neither does the Ministry. He is being charged with conspiracy and treason. Dolores Umbridge will be replacing him as the new Headmaster of Hogwarts, effective immediately.”

There was an uproar. Every voice exploded in outrage: every person in the room seemed to have something to say about the matter, although they all seemed to be saying the same exact thing.

“But where could he have gone?”

“I’m sure he’ll let us know.”

“No, he won’t, he’s got the entire Ministry looking for him, he can’t risk it!”

“Do you think he planned this?”

“No, he would’ve warned us!”

“Should we go looking for him?”

“Should we place more spies at Hogwarts?”

“Where is McGonagall? Why isn’t she here?”

“What if Umbridge gets access to any sensitive information— doesn’t he keep a Pensieve in his office!?

“Pardon me,” Molly said in a very high voice, breaking through the throng. “But I can’t be the only one thinking— well— with Dumbledore gone— w-who— what is keeping You-Know-Who from going after Harry?”

A dull hush spread through the room as everyone exchanged a nervous glance— the sudden silence made Sirius realize that he, like Remus, also had a massive headache. Perhaps that’s why there was fury coursing through Sirius’ veins, a weird, inappropriate fury that he couldn’t quite put his finger on.

“Well,” Elphias Doge said nervously. “Dumbledore wouldn’t have left the castle unprotected, he is the most prepared and careful person I know…”

“It took me less than fifteen minutes to break into the castle when Dumbledore was there,” Sirius said flatly. “I made it to and from Ron Weasley’s bedside with a _knife_ without getting caught.”

Molly threw him a very angry look, which Sirius would have thought was rather funny if he hadn’t been preoccupied with this strange fury still building up inside him.

“Well, maybe we should go get him,” Hestia piped up. “We can bring Harry to Headquarters and—”

“Well, the Ministry’s probably got their own guard on him now, they’ll follow us—”

“What if we meet up with him in Hogsmeade and Apparate, it’ll be so fast that—”

“Potter’s never done side-along! You’re gonna bloody splinch him and do You-Know-Who’s job for him. No, we should—”

“Everyone calm down,” Remus said suddenly. He spoke with his usual calmness, but Sirius could tell he was intensely upset. “Dumbledore gave up everything to ensure Harry could remain at school— we should, therefore, not attempt to undo his actions.”

“I concur,” Kingsley said. “And he’s not there alone— Minerva McGonagall nearly hexed Fudge herself. She, Snape, Hagrid— we’ve still got Order members strategically placed at Hogwarts that are watching Harry.”

“What does that matter?” Moody growled. “You-Know-Who isn’t afraid of _Hagrid_! And with Dumbledore off of the grounds, this is how it starts, I’m tellin’ ya! You lot are too optimistic— now that Dolores Umbridge is the Headmaster I guarantee she’ll be firing everyone still loyal to Dumbledore before the week is through!”

There was a delighted squeak from the corner: Sirius turned to see Kreacher’s head disappearing behind the door of the boiler room. But before he ceould react, a silvery shape swooped into the kitchen, inspiring a wave of gasps to ripple down the table. It was different than the tabby cat of earlier— it was a phoenix.

_“I’m sure you have all heard the recent news by now. Rest assured, we will continue to move forward— nothing about our aims, nor our process, have changed. I have duties to perform outside the walls of Hogwarts for the time being, and will maintain regular contact with Headquarters. Keep in touch with our Order members at the school as best you can. I wish you all a very pleasant evening.”_

Dumbledore’s voice was hardened, but calm. There was a rather stunned silence in which they all stared at each other. And then—

“Well, I guess that decides that,” Sturgis said, forcing a good-natured smile onto his still- slightly sunken face.

“Indeed,” Remus said, his voice tight and strained. “Harry needs to maintain his education. Isolating him, away from school— it would only make his mental state worse, which will, in turn, leave him more vulnerable to Voldemort’s influence.”

Sirius scuffed the sole of his boot roughly against the table leg.

Everyone left soon afterwards, and for most of them, the air of anxiety seemed to have been slightly lessened by the assurance of Dumbledore’s communication. Remus, on the other hand, seemed almost more anxious: he was pouring over past notes, glancing back and forth between the scribbled rolls of parchment and the map of the Department of Mysteries, his face screwed up against his obvious headache.

“You should go to bed,” Sirius said tightly, watching Remus grimace.

“Someone needs to stay up to see if Dumbledore makes further contact,” Remus responded, his own voice strained.

“What do you think, then?” Sirius said, leaning forward.

“About what?”

“About Dumbledore. You think he’s doing the right thing?”

Remus slowly put down his quill and looked up, his face suddenly wary. “By protecting Harry from expulsion again?” He asked quietly.

“No,” Sirius clarified immediately, his pulse rising as he thought back to the summer, Harry’s trial— Harry, his godson, asking to live with him, his godfather— “No,” his voice was rising now, “I mean by refusing to go into hiding.”

Remus stared. “I’m sorry?” he said blankly.

“Well, just— based on your past behavior— I would’ve thought you’d be opposed to it, is all,” Sirius said, keeping his voice as steady as possible. “You know, with the Ministry after him… and Voldemort wants him dead more than anyone… wouldn’t it be… _safer_ … for him to hide out here? You aren’t _concerned_? You don’t think he’s being— ah, what word would you use— _reckless_?”

Remus looked at him like he was insane. “What on earth are you talking about? Dumbledore, silenced, hidden away? That’d be the Ministry’s dream, Voldemort’s triumph—”

“I just think you’re being a _tad_ hypocritical, is all!” Sirius interrupted, his voice louder still. He tried to laugh, but it came out a little harsher than he intended. “The both of you are!”

Remus stared at him for a moment, and then, suddenly, as if in realization, his face sagged. “Oh, Sirius…” he said wearily. “Please don’t. It’s… it’s different, you know it is.”

Sirius dug his nails into the soft wood of the table. “Is it?” He demanded. “Because from my point of view, we’re _both_ public enemy number one on _both_ sides, and yet he’s off fighting the war while I’m stuck here with everyone thinking I’m a bloody cowa—”

“ _Nobody_ thinks you’re a coward,” Remus said firmly.

“Snape does,” Sirius retorted.

“And since when have you cared about what _Snape_ thinks!?” Remus responded, his own voice rising now. “Sirius, I understand how frustrating this is, but I don’t know what else to say, and frankly, there are more pressing matters to deal with right now!”

“Well, you deal with it then,” Sirius snapped. “I’m going to bed.”

He turned on his heel and marched up the stairs, a sour taste in his mouth, and didn’t stop until he reached his bedroom. Pulling open the wardrobe, he reached inside and felt around until his hand closed around the two-way mirror. He brought it up to his face.

“Harry,” he spoke into it. “Harry Potter.” No answer. “Harry James Potter,” he tried again. Nothing. He slid the mirror back and sat down hard on the bed, his emotions rising. He would’ve thought that after a crisis this large, Harry would’ve wanted to talk to him, to ask his advice— hadn’t that been the case the year before? Why the change— was he too old for godfatherly advice, or did he simply not look up to Sirius anymore, not think him capable of helping?

Sirius slumped onto his back, glaring at the ceiling. How was it that Voldemort was hunting Harry, and the Ministry was hunting Dumbledore, but only Sirius was the one being forced to hide from them both? Was he _really_ in that much more danger? Sure, he couldn’t exactly walk around Diagon Alley and hand out copies of _The Quibbler_ , but whatever mission Dumbledore was on… it was sure to be exciting, dangerous, and out of the Ministry’s eyes…

There was a soft knock at the door.

“Can I come in?” Remus’ voice said tiredly through the door.

Sirius quickly flicked his wand, sending the two-way mirror back into the wardrobe. “Yeah,” he grunted, and Remus stepped into the room. They stared at each other for a moment; Sirius looked at his barely half-opened eyes, his graying hair, his even grayer complexion, and suddenly felt an immense swell of guilt.

“I’m sure you think I’m being self-absorbed,” Sirius said out of the corner of his mouth. Remus raised his eyebrows slightly.

“I didn’t say that,” he said placidly.

“You didn’t need to,” Sirius sighed, sitting back up and resting his chin on his hands. Remus gave a faint smile.

“To be fair, I don’t think any one of us is handling this news very well,” he said tiredly, and he joined Sirius on the bed, the mattress dipping slightly as he sat down. “But we should have seen this coming. Stripped of all his titles and awards… it was only a matter of time until the Ministry tried to force him from his job. But I couldn’t imagine—” his voice broke slightly— he looked like he was working hard to control his anger, and Sirius was struck, yet again, by how much Remus still revered their old Headmaster.

“I’m sorry about Umbridge,” Sirius muttered. “Can’t be fun to have the new Headmaster of Hogwarts be someone who hates ‘half-breeds.’”

Remus’ mouth twisted ever-so-slightly, barely noticeably. “Indeed,” he said quietly.

“The good news is, she’s the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, so she’ll end up leaving Hogwarts by the end of the year somehow,” Sirius reminded him cheerfully. “Personally, I hope she snuffs it.”

Remus pressed his lips together, but said nothing.

“Wouldn’t it be great if the giant squid did her in?” Sirius pressed. “Just reached out and plucked her off the grounds…”

“Do you often fantasize about the deaths of schoolteachers?” Remus said, a smile starting to come back onto his face.

“Only the ones that deserve it,” Sirius said innocently.

“But of course.”

And with that thought in Sirius’ mind, another thought swooped in. “Harry,” he said suddenly. “Bollocks.”

“What?” Remus asked, slightly alarmed.

“Occlumency!” Sirius muttered. “Dumbledore’s not there— who’s gonna keep _Snape_ in line?”

“Dumbledore wasn’t exactly involved in them beforehand,” Remus said, frowning. “He was trying to keep away from Harry as much as possible, especially in matters of the mind.”

“Right, but what if now that Dumbledore’s gone, he—”

“—Switches sides and blasts open Harry’s mind for Voldemort?” Remus said dryly, tiredness taking him over once more. Sirius clenched his jaw, and looked at him. Remus was staring back, exasperation in his drooping eyes.

“You really trust him?” Sirius asked, for the umpteenth time.

“I’ve told you—”

“You trust Dumbledore,” Sirius finished for him. “Right.” He looked up at the ceiling. “Too bad the rest of the world doesn’t.”


	31. A Past Clarification

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remus and Sirius get an unexpected call.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much of the dialogue in this chapter is quoted directly from Order of the Phoenix, Chapter 29 to maintain canon consistency!

_April 22nd, 1996_

_12 Grimmauld Place, London, England_

It had been three weeks since Dumbledore had left Hogwarts, and while he was maintaining fairly consistent contact with the Order at large, they still had no idea what exactly he was doing. Sirius seemed to take a bit of issue with this fact, but Remus could of course understand that perhaps Dumbledore was waiting to fill in the gaps. It was highly likely he was simply joining their fellow Order members abroad, talking to prominent witches and wizards about Voldemort’s return— in secret, of course. Or perhaps he was making contact with any number of friends scattered across the country and beyond— despite the _Daily Prophet_ ’s official declaration of his arrest warrant, many people still respected him— it was _Dumbledore,_ after all.

Still, Remus found himself feeling heavier than usual, with newfound alertness in every aspect of his life. There had been a sense of comfort in Dumbledore’s calm consistency that Remus hadn’t even taken note of until it was gone. And it was getting riskier and riskier to try and make contact with Hogwarts: the Ministry seemed to be monitoring every teacher just in case Dumbledore tried to reach out to any of them. But there was nothing Remus could do about that, so instead, he doubled his efforts into the methods he _could_ control. He logged in as many hours of guard time as he could, poured over every report written, paid as much attention as he could to idle gossip in pubs and bars, on the streets and in shops, trying to make note of anything that might point to hints of Voldemort’s escalation.

And it was this Monday, in the late afternoon, that Remus found himself alone in the kitchen, sitting hunched over the table, his eyes glued to Mundungus’ report from the night before. His eyes scanned furiously across the square of parchment, hunting for something, for anything, a small, seemingly unimportant detail that Mundungus had jotted down that actually pointed to the start of a pattern, a plot, the whisperings of Voldemort in Harry’s mind. Unfortunately, Snape had not sent a report about his Occlumency lessons in weeks— Remus supposed he must be too busy, too stressed, what with having to maintain a false illusion of loyalty to Voldemort, and to appear to cooperate with the Ministry, all while _actually_ acting under Dumbledore’s orders— of course a letter to him and Sirius had slipped his mind, and it wasn’t as if Dumbledore was there to pass on the information himself. Remus could only hope, at this point, that no news truly meant _no news_. And so, he maintained his focus on Mundungus’ horribly messy handwriting, analyzing every word, every piece of information, cataloging it in his brain along with every other report written in the past three weeks…

And then, out of nowhere, a voice called, “…Sirius?”

Remus jumped about a foot in the air: the voice had come from behind him, and it was not a voice he had heard in ages— he looked around wildly, convinced he had imagined it, but when he looked at the fire, the face of James’ son stared back at him.

“Harry!” Remus cried, staring down at the flickering green flames, completely shocked. “What are you—what’s happened, is everything all right?”

“Yeah,” Harry said immediately, and he looked suddenly, a bit awkward. “I just wondered…” he swallowed, “I mean, I just fancied a— a chat with Sirius.”

Remus blinked. They had not seen nor heard from Harry since the winter holidays, he hadn’t attempted contact with them when his defense group had been discovered and Dumbledore had left— so him contacting them now, surely something even worse must have happened— and yet Harry didn’t look panicked or desperate, more just… uncomfortable? “I’ll call him,” Remus said, as Sirius was floors above them. He stood up, still staring down at Harry, thoroughly confused. “He went upstairs to look for Kreacher, he seems to be hiding in the attic again…”

He hurried out of the kitchen and up the stairs, two at a time, his mind working very fast; Harry wasn’t stupid enough to use the Floo Network from the Gryffindor fireplace, he couldn’t be, not after what had happened months ago, which meant that the only logical explanation was that he had somehow gained access to Dolores Umbridge’s fire, or he wasn’t even in the castle— either way, Remus could easily assume that he didn’t have permission to make a call.

He pulled open the attic door to see Sirius on his hands and knees, peering behind an old chest. “Sirius?!”

“What?” Sirius demanded, whipping his head around, looking thoroughly annoyed. “Have you found the stupid little—”

“No— it’s— it’s Harry,” Remus said, a bit breathlessly. “He— he wants to speak to you— he’s in the fire.”

Sirius stared at him for a second, completely in shock, but Remus didn’t have time to allow him to fully process his emotions— who knew how much time Harry had, or what he was risking to take it? He grabbed Sirius’ wrist and urged him towards the door, and at his touch, Sirius seemed to come to his senses, and hurried after him down the stairs.

They burst back into the kitchen, and Sirius was by the fireside in less than a second, his eyes huge, pushing his hair aside as if to better see his godson, as if to make absolutely sure that he was really there. He lowered himself to the floor as Remus followed suit: Harry’s face became level with their own, his eyebrows drawn together above his glasses, his beneath them intensely uneasy.

“What is it?” Sirius demanded. “Are you all right? Do you need help?”

“No,” Harry said at once, shaking his head, flames licking his ears. “It’s nothing like that, I just wanted to talk…” he paused, his eyes darting downwards, and then back up again “…about my dad.”

Remus’ heart made an odd little twinge— he glanced at Sirius, who looked back at him, clearly caught off guard. It was surprising, actually, the little information that Harry had ever asked Remus about James— perhaps he asked Sirius more questions, what with him being his godfather— but even so, it seemed quite strange, now, what with everything else going on, for Harry to suddenly want to have a chat about his father.

“I was in Snape’s office,” Harry blurted, before Sirius or Remus could say a word. “For Occlumency lessons, but he had to leave before we started— he left his office, and, well, his Pensieve was just sitting there…”

Sirius snorted.

“…I just wanted to know what Snape was trying to hide from me,” Harry rushed on. “He always puts memories in there before our lessons just in case I get into his mind accidentally, and I thought it might be stuff about the Departm— just, I was curious is all— and so I went in and I saw…” he paused and looked at them nervously, as if he thought they were going to hit him. “…I saw you in a memory. Both of you, and my dad… and Wormtail… only, you were younger, my age…you were just finishing taking your Defense O.W.L.s…”

Remus could see it in his own mind: could feel being fifteen, his quill flying over the paper, desperate to do as well as he could, for maybe, _maybe_ Sirius was right, and if he proved himself smart enough, it would make up for what he was…

“…And Snape was nearby, so I could listen to your conversation, and I could follow you… you all went down to the lake, and you were talking, and then my dad— my dad saw Snape—”and suddenly, Harry looked quite upset. His voice got a little higher and a little faster as he continued, “And Snape wasn’t doing _anything_ , he was just there, just walking across the lawn, but Sirius you said you were bored and then my dad saw him— and he disarmed him! And attacked him! And kept— kept insulting him— and jinxing him— and everyone was watching— and then— my— my _mum_ —”

Remus’ heart sank.

“—My _mum_ came over and defended Snape! She told my dad to leave him alone, she asked why he was even attacking him, and my dad said— well— he just said it was just because Snape _existed_! And then my dad, he…” —Harry’s cheeks were quite red now— “…he said that he’d only leave Snape alone if my mum _went out with him_! And she refused, and Snape fought back and tried to get away but my dad just jinxed him again, hung him upside-down in the air, and everyone was laughing at him— and my mum took out her own wand—” he looked at Sirius, “and was pointing it at you and my dad, she was going to jinx you both to protect him, but then Snape called her a— well, he called her a Mudblood, and my dad got all mad but my mum told him he was just as bad, she called him out for all this stuff, and then she left, and— and— and then once she was gone, my dad just flipped Snape back into the air again! And I didn’t see past that, because Snape came back and caught me, but— but— my dad, he just… he was just… well, everyone always told me all these great things, but Snape had always said the opposite and… he just… wasn’t like I thought he’d be.” He trailed off, his voice tight, his face flushed.

There was a long pause. Remus felt like something heavy had been deposited in his stomach. Of all the memories, of all the great things James had done, of all the kindness and bravery he had shown, _this_ was the memory Harry had been unlucky enough to stumble across, a memory that without context must have looked borderline evil— not that Remus had been comfortable with it at the time, but still—“I wouldn’t like you to judge your father on what you saw there, Harry,” Remus said quietly, looking into the narrowed green eyes in front of him. “He was only fifteen—”

“ _I’m_ fifteen!” Harry interrupted angrily.

“Look, Harry,” Sirius interjected, speaking in what he clearly thought was a calm, reassuring tone. “James and Snape hated each other from the _moment_ they set eyes on each other, it was just one of those things, you can understand that, can’t you?” He leaned backwards slightly on his feet, glancing upwards as if James could hear him, and then back down to Harry. “I think James was everything Snape wanted to be— he was popular, he was good at Quidditch, good at pretty much everything.” He wrinkled up his nose and continued distastefully, “And Snape was just this little oddball who was up to his eyes in the Dark Arts and James, whatever else he may have appeared to you, Harry, always _hated_ the Dark Arts.”

“Yeah,” Harry responded, sounding thoroughly unconvinced, “But he just attacked Snape for no good reason! Just because…” he shot Sirius a slightly guilty look, but continued nonetheless, “…Just because you said you were bored.”

“I’m not proud of it,” Sirius said at once.

Remus shot him a look. He supposed this was a mark of Sirius’ devotion to being a role model to Harry, for he knew for a fact that Sirius had not felt a single drop of remorse over this particular incident, nor the many others. In fact, the only time he had ever really seemed to regret his and James’ actions towards Snape had been that fateful night of the full moon, and even then, Sirius had only _really_ been upset that _Remus_ had been so furious, so hurt… Harry knew some of that story, but not all of it, and maybe did not realize how brave James had been to save Snape’s life, to risk everything not only to save Snape, but to save Remus from doing something so terrible…

…But to remember all of the incidences of Snape being just as cruel to Sirius, to James, to Lily… to _him_ … yes, Remus often did not approve of James and Sirius’ methods, often told them off after the fact or just tried to be uninvolved… but how many times had Snape and his friends attacked them, ambushed them, put Muggle borns in the hospital wing… how many times had Snape himself slipped potions into the Gryffindor tables’ goblets of pumpkin juice that left them sprouting painful boils or bleeding out of their eyes… how many times had Remus seen Lily wiping angry tears from her face after finding out what Snape and his friends had done, often unprovoked, often just because Snape was jealous of James, of Sirius…

“Look, Harry,” Remus said firmly. “What you’ve got to understand is that your father and Sirius were the best in the school at whatever they did— everyone thought they were the height of cool…” he sighed, remembering when he was younger, about how he himself had thought that, shocked to find himself liked, included, _cared for_ by the most popular kids in their year. “…If they sometimes got a bit carried away…”

“If we were sometimes arrogant little berks, you mean,” Sirius interrupted cheerfully. Remus couldn’t help it: he smiled.

“He kept messing up his hair,” Harry said miserably, and as Sirius let out a bark-like laugh, Remus joined him.

“I’d forgotten he used to do that,” Sirius said, adoration emanating off of him in waves.

“Was he playing with the Snitch?” Remus asked, and when Harry confirmed that he was, he couldn’t help but share a grin with Sirius.

“I thought he was a bit of an idiot!” Harry said, clearly bewildered by their reaction, but Sirius waved him off. 

“Of course he was a bit of an idiot— we were all idiots!” Sirius exclaimed. And then, he frowned, and looked sideways at Remus. “Well — not Moony so much,” he amended. But Remus shook his head in disagreement. While Sirius may not have felt much guilt over their childhood actions, Remus, however, did.

“Did I ever tell you to lay off Snape? Did I ever have the guts to tell you I thought you were out of order?”

“Yeah, well, you made us feel ashamed of ourselves sometimes…” Sirius said, shrugging. “That was something…”

“And he kept looking over at the girls by the lake, hoping they were watching him!” Harry burst forth, looking quite embarrassed by that particular point.

“Oh, well,” Sirius said, smirking slightly, “He always made a fool of himself whenever Lily was around. He couldn’t stop himself showing off whenever he got near her.”

“How come she married him?” Harry demanded, looking between Remus and Sirius, almost accusingly. “She _hated_ him!”

It was funny— Remus had almost forgotten that there was a time where Lily and James hadn’t loved one another, so deeply, so truly. He had almost forgotten a time where Lily was just a girl in their class, one that he could only sort of be friends with due to her disapproval of Sirius’ and James’ antics.

“Nah, she didn’t,” Sirius said, waving him off again.

“She started going out with him in seventh year,” Remus explained.

“Once James had deflated his head a bit,” Sirius smirked affectionately.

“ _And_ stopped hexing people just for the fun of it,” Remus said, looking pointedly at Sirius.

Harry looked quite unconvinced. “…Even Snape?” He asked, frowning.

Images, memories, and moments flashed in and out of Remus’ mind: Snape walking by them in the hall and saying loudly, “ _Looking a bit ill again Lupin— almost your time of the month?”_ ; Snape jinxing Sirius in the back after he told him off for dragging Regulus into his group of friends; Snape helping tamper with James’ broom before a Quidditch match… Snape calling Mary Macdonald a Mudblood in the halls not days before Mulciber attacked her…

“Well… Snape was a special case,” Remus said in a low voice, as Sirius looked over to him with a flicker of surprise. “I mean, he never lost an opportunity to curse James, so…” he sighed, “…you couldn’t really expect James to take that lying down, could you?”

“And my mum was okay with that?” Harry asked doubtfully. Remus shifted a bit uncomfortably, and Sirius shrugged.

“She didn’t know too much about it, to tell you the truth,” Sirius said honestly. “I mean, James didn’t take Snape on dates with her and jinx him in front of her, did he?”

Harry’s frown deepened.

“Look,” Sirius went on, and his tone was suddenly quite serious— he leaned further in towards the fire, so he was looking Harry directly in the eyes. “Your father was the best friend I ever had, and he was a good person.” His eyes flicked towards Remus, and then back again. “A lot of people are idiots at the age of fifteen. He grew out of it.”

“Yeah,” Harry said in a low voice. “Okay.” He swallowed, still looking a bit miserable, and sighed, “I just never thought I’d feel sorry for Snape.”

And at this, Remus suddenly felt a flicker of unease. “Now you mention it, how did Snape react when he found you’d seen all this?” he asked.

And for the first time in the entire conversation, Harry looked unbothered. “He told me he’d never teach me Occlumency again,” he said, rolling his eyes, “like that’s a big disappoint—”

“—He WHAT?” Sirius practically shouted, causing Remus’ left ear to twinge in pain, but he hardly noticed, because his stomach had clenched so tightly in fear.

“Are you serious, Harry? He’s stopped giving you lessons?” Remus demanded, his own voice louder than usual, anxiety fluttering into his veins.

“Yeah? But it’s okay, I don’t care…” Harry looked back and forth between the two of them, looking quite bewildered at their reactions. “It’s a bit of a relief to tell you the—”

“I’m coming up there to have a word with Snape!” Sirius shouted, and thrust himself off the ground, as if preparing to stalk straight upstairs to Buckbeak, fly off to Hogwarts, and flip the Potions Master into the air himself. Automatically, Remus reached up and snatched his wrist, dragging him back down to the floor.

“If anyone’s going to tell Snape it will be me!” Remus said forcefully to Sirius, keeping his grip on his arm as he turned back to the fire. “But Harry, first of all, you’re to go back to Snape and tell him that on _no account is he to stop giving you lessons_!” His anxiety was now turning to anger, disbelief— Snape was an _adult_ , was he really letting something like this getting in the way of Harry’s safety!? It wasn’t Harry who had hoisted him into the air, it wasn’t Harry’s fault James and Snape had hated one another— yes, Harry shouldn’t have invaded Snape’s privacy, of course, of _course_ he had the right to be angry, embarrassed, upset— but to stop teaching him Occlumency— to cease doing the _only thing_ keeping Harry’s mind protected from Voldemort— “When Dumbledore hears—!”

“I can’t tell him that, he’d _kill_ me!” Harry exclaimed, looking at Remus in complete disbelief, as if facing Snape were a hundred times more horrifying than possible possession. “You didn’t see him when we got out of the Pensieve—”

“ _Harry_!” Remus cut him off fiercely, “There is _nothing_ so important as you learning Occlumency! Do you understand me? _Nothing_!”

Harry blinked at him. “…Okay,” he said, after a short pause, looking throughly annoyed. “Okay, I’ll… I’ll try and say something to him…” he scowled. “But it won’t be…” but then suddenly, he trailed off, and cocked his head, as if listening intently to a sound that Remus couldn’t hear. “Is that Kreacher coming downstairs?” he asked suddenly.

Sirius looked over his shoulder, and Remus followed suit. The kitchen door was open, and the staircase was deserted. “No,” Sirius said, “It must be somebody on your end…”

“I’d better go!” Harry said hurriedly, and without another word, he pulled his head back, his face disappearing into the flames, which crackled loudly, and faded from green to orange. He was gone.

There was a heavy silence, and then—

“ _FUCK_ ,” Sirius shouted, standing up and kicking the floor. “Bloody _fucking_ dammit!”

“Calm yourself,” Remus said, rising as well, but he rather felt that if Sirius hadn’t sworn, he would have. “Look— I’ll contact Dumbledore—”

“And what’s Dumbledore gonna do?” Sirius half-laughed. “Send him a Howler?”

“I don’t know!” Remus snapped. “But if he knew that this was going on…”

“I told you, didn’t I?” Sirius laughed again, throwing his hands up into the air. “I told you that the second Dumbledore was gone, Snape would turn on Harry…”

“No one has turned on anyone!” Remus said furiously. “You know as well as I do that this is just a— an extreme reaction— and I seem to recall you not even _wanting_ Harry to partake in Occlumency lessons in the first place—”

“That’s because I didn’t realize before— because no one bloody tells anyone anything!” Sirius exploded. “And maybe if Dumbledore had explained to _Harry_ why these lessons were so important, he’d be taking this a bit more seriously, too!”

“You know why Dumbledore can’t speak about this with Harry,” Remus said, watching as Sirius began to pace. “And as for Snape, his behavior is unacceptable, but he’s an adult— he’s a teacher— he cares about Harry’s survival—”

“Oh, please,” Sirius scoffed. “Snivellus doesn’t care about Harry’s survival, he’s just afraid of Dumbledore firing his ‘ex’-Death Eater arse.”

“Well, if that’s true, then who better than Dumbledore to bring him back to his senses?”

“And what if Dumbledore’s too busy on his secret little mission?” Sirius demanded. “We haven’t heard from him in days!”

“I meant what I said,” Remus said forcefully. “If that’s the case, and Harry can’t get through to him, then I’ll speak to Snape myself.”

“And what if he responds by ceasing to brew your potion?” Sirius snarled. “Or did you forget Dumbledore ordered him to do that, as well? And now, guess what, he isn’t there to enforce that, either!”

Remus felt a jolt of anger course through him. “I would happily exchange a lifetimes’ worth of Wolfsbane Potion for Harry’s safety,” he said coldly. Sirius looked at him with an unreadable expression on his face, and there was a short, sharp pause. “So,” Remus went on firmly, “Harry will talk to Snape. If nothing comes of that, I will attempt to talk with him. In the meantime, I’m sending a Patronus to Dumbledore.”

“I’ll send it,” Sirius said in a low voice. “I know you don’t like to.” He took out his wand and muttered, “ _Expecto Patronum,”_ but instead of a dog materializing into the air, there was only a wisp of silvery air. “Dammit,” he muttered. “ _Expecto Patronum._ ” Only mist again.

“You’re not thinking of a happy enough memory,” Remus said quietly.

“Well, have _you_ got a Pensieve on hand to show Harry that his father wasn’t a shitey person?” Sirius barked.

Remus stared into the fire again, silent for a moment, and then he spoke. “Remember that time in second year, when I was recovering in the hospital wing, and you refused to leave my side? You missed dinner, so James snuck into the kitchens and brought an entire feast up.”

Sirius’ face cracked into a grin. “Madame Pomphrey gave him detention and he responded by handing her a pastry.”

“And remember fourth year, during that Quidditch game? That Slytherin Beater kept attempting to knock that second-year Muggle-born off his broom?”

“Surprised you actually paid attention to those matches.”

“I paid attention to this one,” Remus said, smiling. “When James flew in front of him and took every hit? He fell about seventy feet on that last one.”

“I remember,” Sirius said. “The prat performed his own Cushioning charm on the way down.”

“And seventh year,” Remus said, on a roll now, “After Professor Doyle’s life was threatened— when you two attempted to sneak into a Death Eater rally to gather information…”

“Yeah, and you stopped us,” Sirius said accusingly. “You wouldn’t let us leave the castle… bloody map…”

“…And so instead, he planted himself outside the Muggle Studies classroom every single night for weeks,” Remus finished solidly.

“Idiot was so tired, he fell asleep in Potions and spilled armadillo bile all over Mulciber’s robes,” Sirius reminisced happily.

“Try again,” Remus said quietly. Sirius shot him a look, but lifted his wand into the air, and said again, “ _Expecto Patronum_.” This time, a silver dog erupted from the wand, and ran a lap around them both before sitting at Sirius’ feet, wagging its tail, waiting for instructions.

“I see what you did there,” Sirius muttered. “Very effective teaching method, Mr. Lupin.” He leaned forward and whispered the message into the dog’s ear— it listened, and then barked and jumped through the wall, streaking off into the unknown.

There was a short pause.

“We were really just kids, weren’t we?” Sirius muttered.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Sirius shrugged. “Never mind.” He ran his hand through his thick, dark hair; his eyes looked more haunted than Remus had ever seen them. “Snape better make this right.”


End file.
